Psychic Strife
by SpiderFangWolverine123
Summary: Sequel to Psychic Struggles. Two years after the incident with Pearson and Neville, and Sam is living a relatively normal life. Well, at least as normal as his life can get. His nightmares are becoming inescapable, his powers uncontrollable, and his lack of rights unacceptable, but that stuff he can handle. It's the reappearance of an old enemy that could push him over the edge.
1. All Over Again

**Hey, everyone! I'm super excited to start this project, though a little nervous.**

 **With finals coming up (literally next week), I'm trying to distract myself by throwing my attention into a new story.**

 **I would also like to point out that I have started this story twice already, but it just didn't seem right. I think I finally have it now, though.**

 **Fair warning: I guess there's more cursing in this story than the last, but it's nothing you wouldn't hear on Supernatural anyway, so I believe it should be okay. Sorry in advance if it bothers you.  
**

 **Without further adieu, please enjoy!**

 **Psychic Strife**

 **Chapter 1 - All Over Again**

"You don't have to do this," Sam pleaded, hands held out before him. "Just think for a second."

"I have thought!" The crazed boy shouted from his perch. "I tried other ways. I tried…" His voice died for a moment, and Sam could see the distraught and regret in his eyes. Then they hardened with anger, and he looked back up with new determination.

"It won't help," Sam tried to reason. His heart pounded loudly, and he tried to ignore the crowd of people behind him, holding up phones, externalizing the moment. "You know it won't."

A sob came from from near the boy's feet, where he stood atop the hood of a recently crashed car. A woman sat cowering in the passenger seat, clutching the arm of the driver, a large male staring about dazedly from an oozing gash above his eye. The woman cried out again, jostling her husband's arm.

"Richard!"She shrieked. "Please, God, no!"

Her yelling seemed to enrage the boy, as he turned away from Sam and pointed a hand accusingly at her.

"Shut up!" He shouted. "Just SHUT UP!"

"Look at me!" Sam called out to the boy, pulling his attention away from the couple. "Just focus on me."

"They treated me like… They never…" The boy was crazed in his rage, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"I know," Sam said loudly. He paused, waiting until the boy met his eyes. "Believe me, I know."

The boy turned his hateful gaze back to the couple, a snarl curling his lip. "They deserve to DIE for what they did!"

"What did they do?!" Sam shouted desperately. He could see the boy was nearing the tipping point, veering close to the edge. "They believed lies! That's all! They believed what they heard about people like us. _Kids_ like us. You and I know the lies aren't true, but they don't." He gestured to the injured man and his distraught wife. "They just believed what they were told."

The boy spun back to face Sam, and through the anger and rage, Sam could see tears shining in his eyes. "I can't do it anymore. I can't _live_ like this!"

"I know," Sam said empathetically. "But it isn't their fault. Hurting them won't change what's been done to you. It won't make anything right."

The boy shuddered, and looked down at where the cowering couple sat terrified below him.

"Maybe not," He said, his voice hollow. He looked up at Sam, with eyes that were too old for his age, and had seen one too many horrors. His hands cackled with red energy, snapping at his fingertips. Slowly, he raised a hand to point at the couple in the car, dead eyes staring straight into Sam.

"But it will sure as hell make me feel better."

* * *

 _(7 hours previous)_

They were like nightmares, except they weren't.

 _The darkness followed him everywhere, pressing against him tightly, slipping into his lungs with every breath._

He knew they weren't real; he knew he should wake up.

 _He slipped and fell to the ground, and felt the hands grabbing at his arms and legs. Demented whispers drifted around him, hissing silkily._

But he couldn't.

 _He felt heat at his back, he looked behind him to see a bright light eating away at the darkness, slowly revealing his surroundings. But when he looked closer he could see the light was fire, fed by fear and shining even brighter in the dark._

He was there, and yet, he wasn't. That world was fake; he knew that. But it didn't seem to matter.

 _The fire wasn't eating away the darkness. It was consuming the inky black, using it to grow stronger and more fierce. The fire reached for him, it's flaming tendrils licking at his ankles._

He told himself to wake up, that it wasn't real, but it felt real. He knew it wasn't, but it still felt real.

 _And then there was that ever present shadow, appearing when the fire flared brightly. It clung to his heels, mimicking his every step. He knew he shouldn't be afraid of his own shadow. But this shadow was different._

He felt the panic of being stuck in this hell-hole half reality, but he couldn't escape. It wasn't real. But it felt pretty frickin' close.

 _This shadow was menacing, threatening, and never left him alone. It seemed to stalk along behind him, waiting for the chance to strike. And there was something else very disturbing about his shadow. He was fairly sure that normal shadows didn't have eyes._

 _Especially not eyes that glowed bright yellow._

"Up an' at'm, Sammy!" Dean called from the bottom of the stairs.

Sam jolted upright, heart pounding erratically. He took a moment to steady himself, gripping the thick bedspread tightly.

 _This is real._ He told himself. _This is real._

"Sammy! Don't make me come up there and drag your-" Sam heard a loud gasp from Mary. "-out of bed!"

Sam let a small smile cross his lips as he swung his legs off the bed. _Dean's gonna get it now._

Mary didn't approve of crude language in her home; John was the only one who could occasionally get away with it.

"I'm up!" Sam called down to head off Dean's incessant yelling.

He grabbed a pair of jeans from his dresser and an old ACDC t-shirt of Dean's. His tag snagged on the collar of the shirt as he pulled it over his head, and Sam jerked it free. Sam grabbed his jean jacket as he left his bedroom, pulling it on while he took the stairs two at a time.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" Dean joked as he raced into the kitchen.

Sam ignored the shudder that ran down his spine at Dean's words, and took the toast Mary held out with a grateful smile.

Sam glanced at the clock. 7:56.

"Sam, I need to talk to you about something-" John started.

"Can this wait 'till I get back, please?" Sam asked urgently, jamming a shoe onto his foot. He picked up the leather shoulder bag by the front door and swung it over his head.

"Wait, Sam, where are you going?" Mary asked, drying her hands on towel.

Dean sent Sam a mischievous smile. "He's got a bus to catch."

"Ah." Mary nodded with a sly smile of her own.

"I'll be back." Sam said, pulling on his other shoe as he hopped out the door. Sam closed the door behind him and jumped onto his bike, resting against the porch step, pedaling quickly toward the end of the street.

Sam could barely force himself to stop at the street's end, giving the right of way to the passing car. He wanted to speed out in front of them, but he knew, if reported, that could result in a traffic citation for his "reckless use of unsupervised freedom". Funny how something like that could apply only to psychics like himself.

Sam raced two blocks east, and pulled into the next street, Bakersfield Drive. There, on the next branch away from the road, a tall raven-haired girl with purple streaks in her hair stood next to the street sign, nervously checking her phone.

Sam rode smoothly next to her, swinging his leg over the bar and dismounting in one smooth motion. She let out a relieved sigh, stepping toward him.

Breathlessly, Sam reached into his bag, bringing out a two notebooks and a textbook. He handed them over to her, and she gratefully accepted them.

"Hey," Sam said simply. "I checked everything over. It should be right. I left a few wrong, though, so Mr. Williams won't get suspicious-"

"My hero," The girl said sarcastically, tucking the books away. She looked up, a real smile lighting her face. "Seriously, though, what would I do without you?"

Sam shrugged. "Crash and burn?"

She made a face at him, and then tucked her arms around his neck. She reached up, pecking him lightly on the lips.

"I thought you weren't going to make it," She murmured quietly.

"And leave you without your homework? I'd never do such a thing."

"You think I was worried about the homework? I don't give a crap about that." She scoffed, kissing him lightly again. "I wanted to see you."

Sam ducked down, kissing her back. "Mission accomplished."

He broke away when he heard the bus rumbling down the street. "I have to go," He said regretfully.

"Why?" She complained. "Please, just wait until it gets here."

"You know I can't." Sam said, eyeing the closely approaching bus.

He leaned in one more time, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

She nodded. "We're still on for tomorrow afternoon, right?"

"Yeah." Sam looked up. The bus was picking up a kid a few driveways down. He swung his leg over, boosting himself onto the bike.

"Bye, Sam."

Sam looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with the raven-haired girl he'd been so lucky to have in his life for years.

"Bye, Maia."

* * *

"So, did you get some lovin'? Dean asked smugly when Sam walked in. Sam threw his bag at his obnoxious older brother, which Dean easily caught with a laugh at Sam's expression.

"Shut up, Dean." Sam said.

"Dean, don't be vulgar," Mary said with a sigh as she entered the room.

"Mom, it's just good natured brotherly banter," Dean protested. "He can take it."

"I can take _you_."

"You think so, little bro?" Dean challenged, lifting his hands. "Bring it on."

Sam charged at Dean, lunging forward. Dean dodged his punch, sliding behind him and wrapping an arm around his neck. He took his fist and rubbed it on the top of Sam's head, while Sam struggled and protested.

"Say 'Uncle', Sammy!"

"No frickin' way!" Sam lashed out with an elbow, catching Dean in the stomach. Dean stumbled back a step. Sam glared at him in irritation, trying to brush his hair back into order with his fingers.

"What's 'a matter, Sam? Did I mess up your 'do?" Dean mocked.

"Okay, that's it!" Sam ran at Dean again, and Dean sprinted in the opposite direction, laughing good naturedly.

"Boys, take it outside!" Mary called from the living room.

Dean held up his hands, still laughing. "Okay, okay. Truce?"

Sam contemplated for a moment, his eyes narrowed. He nodded slowly, extending a hand. Dean grabbed it, giving it a firm shake.

Suddenly, Sam ducked behind Dean, twisting his arm behind his back. He shoved him against the wall, gripping his arm tightly.

"Now who's saying 'Uncle', huh?" Sam laughed triumphantly.

"Alright, boys, back off." John intervened. "Sam, let your brother go."

Sam released Dean's arm, and Dean turned around with a grudge in his eye. "I'm going to get you back for that. Mark my words!" Dean promised as he walked away.

"You can try!" Sam called back.

John fixed an amused smile on Sam. "Nice moves, kiddo." He complimented, ruffling Sam's hair.

"C'mon, not you, too." Sam complained, ducking away and brushing it back into place.

The smile faded from John's face, as though he'd remembered something unpleasant. "I need to talk to you, Sam."

Sam looked at John in confusion, and nodded. He followed John into the dining room, where John shut the door behind them. He pulled a slightly rumpled envelope out of his back pocket, handing it to Sam with a solemn expression.

"I got this in the mail today."

Sam pulled a piece of paper out of the opened envelope, seeing the return address marked only as the DPA: _Department of Psychic Affairs._

As he scanned the letter, his heart sunk into his stomach, and disappointment ate at his insides.

 _Dear Mr. Winchester,_

 _We have considered your appeal for a driver's license for Psychic Ward 87763. Your charge has expressed no intentions of violence or threat to the general public in recent years, and we agree that this would not be a legal obstacle in beginning to meet the necessary requirements for obtaining a driver's license._

 _However, we feel that assigning your charge with a psychic learner's permit would cause significant legal ramifications with the victims of past events. It is for this reason that we are denying your appeal for a psychic learner's permit for Psychic Ward 87763._

 _If you have any questions about the Agency's decision regarding this appeal, please contact our office. Communication information has been provided below._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Mindy Strauss_

 _Secretary of the Department of Psychic Affairs_

Sam ran his eyes over the words again, picking out certain phrases, de-coding the confusing wording. It wasn't hard to get the gist.

"So… I'm not getting a permit." Sam didn't ask; he knew the answer already.

John shook his head slowly. "No, they decided against it."

Sam looked back over the second paragraph. "'Legal ramifications with the victims of past events.'" Sam quoted. He turned his gaze back to John in disbelief. "Are they saying this is because of Pearson and Neville?"

John nodded. "There were extensive damages after everything that happened. That, along with the Roosevelt breakout you orchestrated, would be embarrassing for the D.P.A. to be reminded of."

Sam made a face. "Are they actually making that fascist concentration camp out to be a victim? Vanector and her child soldiers?"

"No, Sam. Vanector is paying for her crimes. The D.P.A. is responsible for not sending more inspections to the camp, however, and the reveal of how poorly that camp had been run is a significant spot on their record."

Sam turned away, scoffing. "So I can't drive because they don't want to be reminded of their screw up?"

"Sam, you're going to drive."

Stunned, Sam turned back around to face John. "But they aren't going to issue me a license. Or a permit."

"I don't give a damn what they issue." John said firmly. "I'm not saying you'll be running errands for us, but when push comes to shove, I want you to be able to get around. For emergencies and such."

Sam studied John's face, considering the offer. "This is for real? You'll teach me how to drive? Even though it breaks the law?"

A smile split John's face. "Not me, son. Dean'll be your teacher."

* * *

"Okay, so first turn the car on."

"I know that."

"I didn't say you didn't know, I'm just telling you what to do."

"Yeah, and you don't have to. I know how a car works, Dean."

"Fine, then I guess you don't need my help at all, then."

"Guess not."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam turned the key in the ignition, feeling the car thrum to life. He stared wistfully at the sleek Impala, sitting protected in the garage. Of course John wouldn't let him drive her. Sam would be surprised if John ever let him drive her.

Easily, Sam shifted the car into reverse. He glanced behind him and slowly began to back out.

"Any day now, Genius."

"I'm moving, Dean, back off."

Once he was straightened on the road, Sam put the car in drive and began to pull forward. It was an odd feeling, being behind the wheel. He'd seen Dean, Mary, and John drive countless times. It was a simple, everyday action. And yet, he felt so powerful. So unstoppable.

"Stop sign."

"I see it, Dean."

Maybe it was the fact that what he was doing was illegal. It was illegal for a regular underage citizen to be driving without a permit or license. For psychics, it was an off the charts infraction. Forget citations. He'd be lucky if he wasn't Relocated.

Sam shuddered at the thought. Sam had been formally Accepted into the Winchester household about four months after the debacle with Pearson and Neville, which was about as close to adoption as a psychic could get.

On formal papers, Sam took the last name Winchester, and his legal guardians were Mary and John. However, he could still be taken away in an instant. Mary and John had done all they could to make his Acception ironclad, but there was always the chance that someone would decide he wasn't doing well in his Care Home and come to remove him.

"Uh, Dean? Where are we going?" Sam asked, pausing a T-intersection.

Dean shrugged. "Wherever you feel like."

Sam rolled his eyes, signalling left and turning quickly. Once the turn was completed, he kept moving straight. Driving was more nerve-wracking than he'd thought it would be. Maybe it was just the fear of getting caught that kept him on edge, but it felt like something else. Something deeper causing him unease.

"Dean, something's wrong." The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think about saying them.

"What?" Dean looked around jerkily, trying to spot the problem. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know." Sam admitted. "Something just feels...wrong."

Dean let out a breath. "Jeez, Sam, I though a tire had blown or something. Don't freak me out like that."

Sam pressed the accelerator harder as the road took on a sharp incline. The unease was growing stronger, beginning to choke him.

"Something's wrong, Dean. I don't like this." Sam said, panic setting in his voice.

Dean looked over with genuine concern in his eyes. "Okay, Sammy, it's fine. Just pull over and we'll switch. Driving can be stressful your first time-"

"It's not driving, Dean!" Sam huffed, frustrated. "It's something else… I can't explain it. I just _know_ that-"

" _SAM, STOP!_ "

The order came quick and sudden, and Sam's foot jammed onto the brake in shock. In the split second it took for him to look from Dean to the road, he saw a cluster of cars sitting in the middle of the road. Dean and Sam were thrown forward violently as Mary's old van fought against inertia and momentum.

The car managed to screech to a stop fifteen feet away from the chaos. Dean and Sam sat there, panting and in shock.

Sam looked over. "So, do you think her brakes are shot?"

Dean let out huff of a laugh. "Yeah, Sammy, I think her brakes are pretty much shot."

Sam turned his gaze to the road. "The hell happened here?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Dean scanned the area. "Pull off over there." He nodded to the right. "If we're going to check this out, we're not leaving Mom's van out here. I betcha we're not the only ones who'll make the same mistake we almost did."

Sam pulled over to the side, onto the grassy shoulder, and put the van in park. Carefully, Sam stepped out of the car, shielding his eyes against the sun.

Dean started walking to the throng of cars, and Sam followed close behind him. Every step he took toward the crowd of cars, the unease inside him became sharper.

Suddenly, Dean ducked to the side, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him behind a parked car.

"What's wrong?" Sam whispered.

"Cop." Dean answered. "By the wreck."

"There's a wreck?!" Sam jumped up to get a look, but Dean jerked him back down.

"Are you stupid?" Dean hissed. "You know what'll happen if that cop sees you anywhere near here."

Of course he knew. It was the exact reason every psychic kept their head down around police, security guards, even mall cops. If psychics turned up anywhere near the scene of a crime, that officer had the completely legal right to put the psychic under indefinite arrest, during which time what few rights psychics could usually count on were terminated.

Psychics had been known to have been kept under arrest for weeks for something as harmless as graffiti. They were the scapegoats of humanity, kept under constant judgement and scrutiny.

Sam peered out slowly around the car, looking for the wreck Dean mentioned. About twenty feet from where they hid, a beige car, was turned askew on the roadway. There was no visible damage to the surface of the car, except for the smoke rising from the hood.

A cop was taking cover behind his patrol car door, gun held tightly in his hands. Sam frowned. Something about the situation was wrong. Why would the cop be pointing a gun at victims of a car crash?

He surveyed the area again, and a moving figure caught his attention. There was somebody pacing behind the crashed car, moving back and forth. Sam shifted, trying to get a better look, and he felt Dean grab his jacket.

"What are you doing, Sam?"

"There's a kid out there, Dean."

"Well, that's not exactly our problem, is-"

"I think he's like me."

The revelation came quickly, a surprise even to Sam. But as soon as he said it, he realized it was true. It had to be. It explained why the cop was so afraid, and even why the car was wrecked without having hit anything. It also explained why so many people were still here, watching the drama unfold, and yet staying hidden safely inside or behind their cars.

When Dean spoke, his voice was low and tense. "We can't do anything for him, Sam. We have to figure out how to get out of here without being spotted, too."

Sam watched the boy pacing back and forth. There was a frantic edge to his movements, a harried urgency that seemed to be gripping him tightly.

"Come out slowly with your hands up!" The cop shouted loudly to the boy.

The boy showed no indication that he had heard. He looked around Sam's age, with dark, sandy blond hair that hung just over his eyes and ears. His eyes were a bright blue, clear and piercing. At this moment, they were clouded with fear and confusion.

Crying caught Sam's attention, and he noticed two people sitting in the driver and passenger seats. An older woman with short, curly hair was gripping the arm of her companion tightly, begging loudly. The man was larger, with meaty arms and oversized potbelly. He stared about dazedly, unable to focus on his surroundings. A large gash above his eye sent blood cascading down his face. Absently, Sam noticed the twin rings encircling both their fingers.

"Shut up!" The boy yelled at the woman, his voice breaking dejectedly.

"Pease, Nathan," The woman called to the boy. "You don't need to do this."

"SHUT UP!" Nathan roared, holding up a hand threateningly and coming forward a step. The woman screamed and cowered in her seat.

"I'm sorry!" She shrieked. "Please, Nathan, I'm sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't get me anything!" He shouted back angrily. "It doesn't get me my mom back, or my old life. You _took that from me!_ " Nathan's voice rose with every word, and the woman flinched away.

"I didn't!" The woman protested, her voice shrill. "That was the authorities! I had nothing to do with it!"

"Stop _lying_!" Nathan growled, lifting his hand higher. The woman fell back, crying against her husband.

"GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!" The cop yelled through a megaphone. "NOW, OR I WILL BE FORCED TO TAKE AFFIRMATIVE ACTION!"

Nathan turned a hateful eye to the cop, and raised his hand. Red energy swirled at his fingertips, and the cackling sound of electricity snapped across the highway. Sam's eyes widened as Nathan pushed towards the officer, and a clear bolt of red lightning shot across the road.

The cop shouted in shock, lunging away from his patrol car, but the blast from the bolt colliding with the engine sent him flying twenty feet, his gun sliding out of his grip and under a nearby car. Sam watched the officer fearfully, with bated breath, waiting to see if he would move.

The officer shifted, moaning slightly, but Sam could tell there was no way he would be able to affect the situation anymore. Sam could also see that the officer needed medical attention. Badly.

"Now's our chance." Dean hissed in his ear. "The cop's knocked out, nobody'll notice or care if we go around."

Sam stared at Dean in disbelief. "They need our help!"

"Who? The kid? The couple? The spectators looking for some good Friday night entertainment?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "All of the above."

"You can't save everyone, Sammy." Dean said gently.

"Well, I can always try." Sam said stubbornly, looking back at the highway.

"Sam, let's just go. There's nothing you can do to help that won't get you arrested and detained as well."

Sam watched Nathan, pacing erratically around the car again, pausing only to snap at the couple in the front. He was angry, violent, frustrated beyond words.

"What if it was me out there?" He asked Dean quietly. "You'd want someone to help."

Dean hesitated, looking at Sam cautiously. "You'd never do something like this."

"Maybe not, but I thought about it." Sam admitted. "I thought about it a lot in some of my crappier Care Homes. The only thing that stopped me was that I wasn't quite sure how to control my telekinesis, and it wasn't like I could 'vision' them to death."

He looked back out at Nathan, and he could see himself reflected in the angry, desperate boy that paced around the car. He saw Ansem in Nathan's conflicted eyes, saw Max in his broken expression. He saw Jake in the raw fear and anger that radiated off of Nathan in every direction.

Sam looked back at Dean. "I have to do something." He started to stand up, but Dean grabbed his sleeve.

"You know how many people are videotaping this right now? You step out there, it'll be like two years ago all over again."

Sam flinched. Two years ago, when reporters camped by their door day and night. When Sam couldn't open the curtains in his bedroom without being blinded by the flashing cameras. When he couldn't step outside for fear of being attacked, and the house was receiving calls daily from news stations and talk shows wanting to talk to Sam.

And the investigations. The mental assessments, talks with "kind" doctors who "only wanted to chat". The mandatory house arrest for three weeks, which Sam actually appreciated because it gave him a reason to hide away from the reporters. Constant inspections from the Psychic Regulations Committee, checking that he was being monitored sufficiently in his Care Home.

It had all been a nightmare.

Could he really risk bringing that back down on his family and himself again, just when things had just started to settle back down?

Sam looked back at Nathan, shouting at the couple angrily. He seemed to be escalating in his anger, their fear only enraging him more.

"What, are you scared of me?" Nathan taunted hotly. "Huh?"

The woman wailed and gripped her husband's arm fearfully. "Nathan, please, we're sorry. We never meant-"

"You never meant to what?" Nathan interrupted sharply, waving his hand. "Lock me in the closet? Beat me with belt? Starve me for days? Were those accidents?"

"No…" The woman moaned. "We were trying to help you learn what boundaries there are for your kind-"

" _MY KIND?_ " Nathan roared, lifting his hand. "You haven't seen half of how dangerous _my kind_ can be!" The red energy swirled at his fingers, and Sam could see the electricity beginning to snap.

"Stop!" He heard a voice shout, and it took a moment to realize it was his own. He rose to his feet, ignoring Dean's hissed order to stop, and shook of Dean's hand. Before he left the cover of the car, he met Dean's eyes.

"Stay back, Dean." Sam ordered. "I mean it."

"Sam-!" Dean protested, reaching for his sleeve again.

Sam dodged his grip and walked out from behind the car, hands raised.

Nathan seemed shocked by his appearance. He looked around wildly, as if noticing the other spectators for the first time. He held his hands out threateningly in front of him, red energy snapping dangerously. Nathan scrambled onto the hood of the car, eyes darting around in a panicked manner.

"Stop there!" Nathan ordered, and Sam slowed his approach. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"My name is Sam Winchester," Sam said calmly. "And I'd like you to let these people go."

* * *

"It doesn't have to be like this," Sam reasoned. "There's a different way."

"I've tried!" Nathan snapped. "Nothing works. They never listen."

"Maybe they would if you lowered your hands," Sam suggested.

Nathan stared down scathingly at the couple below him. "They don't listen no matter what I do."

"Your name is Nathan, right?" Sam asked, pulling his attention away from the couple.

Nathan nodded suspiciously.

"How long have you been in the system?"

Nathan stared down at his feet. "Two years."

"And you've been with these people? For the whole time?"

Nathan nodded wordlessly, sending a hateful glare at the people in the car.

"I know that it's hard in Care Homes, Nathan. Believe me, I understand." Sam said gently. "But you can't do stuff like this, man. It won't help anything."

"Then what do I do?" Nathan asked desperately, tears welling in his eyes. "Just take the beatings, day after day after _day!?_ " He looked back at the man, glaring angrily.

Sam lifted his hands higher, directing Nathan's attention back to him. "It's not fair. But this will only make things worse."

"Things can't get any worse." Nathan said darkly.

Sam looked back at the officer, lying prone on the pavement. "Nathan, some of these people need medical attention."

Nathan barked a laugh. "You mean the cop? He can _die_ for all I care." He spat hatefully.

"You don't want that, Nathan. I can see it." Sam said placatingly. "You aren't a bad person. You aren't a person who wants to hurt others."

"They all think I am!" Nathan shouted, gesturing to the people huddling in their cars.

"And are you going to prove them right by doing this?" Sam asked. "Because all you're doing right now is showing them that everything they fear about psychics is true. That all psychics are dangerous and violent and impossible to control."

Nathan looked down at the couple. His eyes looked old and sad. "Maybe we are." Nathan was reaching his breaking point, Sam could see it in his eyes. He recognized the expression, the one that said Nathan didn't care _how_ it ended, as long as it _did_.

"You don't have to do this," Sam pleaded, hands held out before him. "Just think for a second."

"I have thought!" Nathan shouted from his perch. "I tried other ways. I tried…" His voice died for a moment, and Sam could see the distraught and regret in his eyes. Then they hardened with anger, and he looked back up with new determination.

"It won't help," Sam tried to reason. His heart pounded loudly, and he tried to ignore the crowd of people behind him, holding up phones, externalizing the moment. "You know it won't."

A sob came from from the woman below Nathan. Her husband's head was falling against the seat, eyes rolling in the back of his head. The woman cried out again, jostling her husband's arm.

"Richard!"She shrieked. "Please, God, no!"

Her yelling seemed to enrage Nathan again, and he turned away from Sam and pointed a hand accusingly at her.

"Shut up!" He shouted. "Just SHUT UP!"

"Look at me!" Sam called out to Nathan, pulling his attention away from the couple. "Just focus on me."

"They treated me like… They never…" Nathan was crazed in his rage, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"I know," Sam said loudly. He paused, waiting until t met his eyes. "Believe me, I know."

Nathan turned his hateful gaze back to the couple, a snarl curling his lip. "They deserve to DIE for what they did!"

"What did they do?!" Sam shouted desperately. He could see Nathan was nearing the tipping point, veering close to the edge. "They believed lies! That's all! They believed what they heard about people like us. _Kids_ like us. You and I know the lies aren't true, but they don't." He gestured to the injured man and his distraught wife. "They just believed what they were told."

Nathan spun back to face Sam, and through the anger and rage, Sam could see tears shining in his eyes. "I can't do it anymore. I can't _live_ like this!"

"I know," Sam said empathetically. "But it isn't their fault. Hurting them won't change what's been done to you. It won't make anything right."

Nathan shuddered, and looked down at where the cowering couple sat terrified below him. "Maybe not," He said, his voice hollow. He looked up at Sam, with eyes that were too old for his age, and had seen one too many horrors. His hands cackled with red energy, snapping at his fingertips. Slowly, he raised a hand to point at the couple in the car, dead eyes staring straight into Sam.

"But it will sure as hell make me feel better."

Time seemed to slow as Nathan raised his hands, red energy snapping angrily. He didn't point them at the couple, however. They stayed down pointed at the hood of the car. Nathan's eyes were staring straight into the woman's.

There was no more hate or anger in his eyes. Only a sheer determination that chilled Sam to the bone.

As the energy snapped around both of Nathan's hands, he took a deep breath and lifted his hands, pointing them at the couple in the car.

Sam lifted his hand, panic racing through him. Adrenaline raced through his body, and he took a step forward, reaching out to stop Nathan, thrusting his hand out.

Suddenly, Nathan was thrown off of the hood of the car and soared backwards. The energy bolt burst from his fingertips, rocketing past Sam and striking an abandoned car to his right, which exploded, send shrapnel in every direction. Sam covered his head as the wave of heat rushed over him, and he heard flaming bits of debris landing around him.

Nathan hit the street and rolled a few feet before coming to a stop. The woman screamed loudly, her wail falling away into a broken sob.

Sam stared in shock at the boy, barely visible from where he was standing, and fell to his knees. Nathan lay motionless on the pavement, his figure wavering in the heat rising from the car he had hit. He wasn't moving, was only lying, so still.

How could he have made the same mistake again? Two years later, after everything that he'd learned, he'd still screwed up in the exact same way. It was like seeing Mitchell all over again, lying in the grass… Not moving…

"Sammy?" Dean came out from behind the car, approaching slowly. He put an arm around Sam's shoulder. "Sammy, talk to me." Carefully, Dean looked Sam over for any burns or cuts from the explosion.

"I did it again." Sam said, his voice strangled. "Dean, what if-"

"Don't say it, Sam." Dean cut him off. "Just stay here. If you want to be useful, go check on the cop. See if he can radio for some backup or something."

Sam pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to the officer. People began to emerge from their cars, but they stayed near the edges of the scene, a few brave souls venturing to the wrecked car to console the distraught woman.

Sam knelt next to the officer. He was unconscious, but breathing. Sam pressed a hand to his wrist, but couldn't find a pulse. His hands were shaking, and he couldn't keep them still enough to feel a beat under the officer's skin. Instead, Sam reached for the officer's radio, pressing a button and hoping.

"Hello?" He said in an unsteady.

There was a moment of silence. " _Officer Highland?_ " The dispatcher sounded confused.

"No, this is...Sam."

" _Sam, do you know that it is a crime to steal an officer's radio?_ "

"Please, there was an accident. This officer was hurt. He's been knocked out or something."

Instantly, the dispatcher's disposition flipped. " _Can you tell me where you are?_ "

"Highway 214. There was some kind of accident…" Sam trailed off, swallowing nervously. "A psychic was involved somehow."

The dispatcher was silent for a moment. " _Okay, Sam, I'm sending backup to your location. They should be there soon. Is anyone hurt?_ "

"The officer… I think he's just knocked out, though. The man in the crashed car, he has a bad cut on his head. And… The psychic was pushed… kind of... I don't know how bad he's hurt."

" _Sam, what do you mean the psychic was pushed? Did someone attack him?_ "

Sam sucked in a breath, his voice tight. "Yeah? Um, I did?"

The dispatcher seemed to process this, and put it aside to deal with later. " _Sam, backups en route to your location. You should be able to hear the sirens soon, okay?_ "

"Okay." Sam agreed and dropped the radio. Sure enough, two seconds later the silence was shattered by the quiet but undeniable sound of sirens wailing in the distance.

"Sam!" Dean called out, sitting next to Nathan's still form.

Sam pushed himself up, walking slowly over to Dean. Things spun around him, and the heat sucked all of the moisture out of his mouth. There was a slight ringing in his ears, and he couldn't stop hearing that woman _screaming._ Why wouldn't she just stop?

"Whoa, Sammy, I got you," Dean's voice came out of the chaos, a welcome beacon of light in the darkness.

Sam felt Dean's arms wrap around him, lower him to the ground. He sat there, world spinning around him, and all he could see was Nathan's still form… Mitchell lying motionless… The woman kept screaming… T.J. wouldn't stop yelling…

"C'mon, Sammy, talk to me," Dean muttered. "Sammy, Nathan's okay. You hear me? He's okay. Just out cold. You got him good, brother. But he's okay."

The sirens became sharper, wailing closer and closer.

"I'm going to go meet them," Dean muttered. "I'll be right back, Sammy."

Then his presence was gone, and Sam sat alone amidst a wreckage of screaming and fire and fear. Sam shook his head, swallowing, trying to regain his equilibrium. Unsteadily, he pushed himself to his feet. He had to get away. Be anywhere but here.

"Over here! I think we found him!" The shout came from his right, but he kept walking. They'd found Nathan. They would lock him up. Keep him in a little cell, no visitors, for the rest of his life. It didn't matter to them. They didn't care.

"Hey, stop!"

Nathan must have woken up. Tried to run. That was a stupid idea. They'd find him eventually. And even if he did make it, it wasn't like there was somewhere he could go. No one would be stupid enough to take in a fugitive, no matter-

Sam was abruptly slammed off his feet and thrown to the ground. He felt someone pressing a knee into his back and cold metal handcuffs encircling his wrists. Panic set in, and he thrashed, trying to throw off his attacker.

He felt rain start to drizzle down, putting out the fires and cooling down the hot pavement. A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, a sign of more to come.

"No, this is a mistake! Please, I'm not-"

"Shut up!" His attacker grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to his feet. "You have the right to remain silent. One I highly hope you take advantage of." The rain was coming down harder, making it harder for Sam to hear or see through the haze.

"Sam? Sammy!" Dean's voice came from his left. "Let him go! That's not who you want!"

Sam stumbled along, smoke clouding his vision. His attacker, whom he assumed to be an officer of some kind, shoved him along unceremoniously. Another officer came up beside them. "We got the other one into the transport. Medic looked him over. Said he'll be fine." The officer looked down his nose at Sam. "Get this one in the transport as well."

Sam's officer grunted his assent, and pushed Sam forward, toward a large metal truck. He opened the back, boosting Sam up before him. He shoved him down onto one of the metal benches lining the interior and attached his handcuffs to a metal ring in the wall behind him. The officer drew a seatbelt over Sam's hips, fastening him to the bench. His ankles were secured with chains and locked to the floor.

Nathan was chained to the bench across from him. He was lying on the bench, arms and legs tied down with temporary fixtures.

The truck roared to life under Sam's feet, and they started moving forward. Swallowing his fear, Sam leaned his head back against the wall of the transport. He shouldn't be afraid of this by now. After all, he'd been through all of it before.

He was sure that soon he would be terrified, and want answers, but at that point, all he wanted was to sleep. Closing his eyes, Sam drifted to sleep to the sound of a roaring engine, and chains rattling against metal.

* * *

Rain pounded down around them, a cacophony of chaos. It trickled across the rooftops, dripping into puddles on the ground. A cool breeze blew through the air, chasing away any notion of warmth.

Jake hugged his arms to his sides, shivering in his damp clothes. His mood sunk lower with every fresh torrent of rain. He was hungry, thirsty, and tired. And now he was cold.

Pearson stood at the door of the shack they were hiding in. He stared out into the storm, oblivious as sheets of icy rain struck angrily against him. Wind blew his hair haphazardly, and Jake knew that the man had to be freezing. But he didn't seem to care.

Thunder rolled loudly, and lightning flashed in the late afternoon sky. Pearson closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips as he turned his face to the stormy heavens.

Jake felt tremors from the chill run down his back. He shifted, trying to pull further away from the door of the shack. He tried turning his face into the corner he had planted himself in, but the cold found it's way around.

Jake gritted his teeth in resentment. It shouldn't be like this. He shouldn't have been hiding like a rat in this godforsaken place while everyone else got away scot free. He was supposed to be ruling the world. His days of hiding and being scared were supposed to be over.

They were supposed to have ended two years ago. But he'd hung on. He'd tried. He'd followed Pearson to every corner of the earth, searching for some kind of magic fix that would resolve all of their problems. He'd supported the madness, because he needed an ally and Pearson was convenient.

Jake thought of the years still ahead of him. Pearson wanted to devise a new plan, to raise Azazel and bring about Salvation. He was spinning theories of doors and lost talismans and other ways to bring his master to the mortal world. He was sure it would work. That was all he'd been telling Jake for weeks. Years.

But Jake wasn't so sure.

Of course Pearson would find a solution eventually. He'd find a way to raise the demon. That was his ultimate goal in life, the only thing ever on his mind. However, it wasn't the only thing on Jake's.

Jake wanted freedom. He wanted to live in a house with people that loved him, trusted him. Were there for him. He wanted to be well fed and have clothes on his back and friends to go to school with. He wanted to be respected for what he could do, not hated. He wanted a life.

So, yes, Pearson would eventually raise Azazel, and the demon would raise them all to Salvation. He would end the suffering of those who followed him, and all of the demon children who lived in fear day after day. Eventually, they would all be saved.

But eventually just wasn't good enough.

Jake looked at Pearson, still standing motionless in the doorway. Pearson had tried. He'd had his chance. It was Jake's turn now. Jake's chance to turn the tables on the stupid mortals that thought Psychics could be controlled. He wouldn't let them get away with anything.

The time for waiting was over.

A new age was beginning.

And Jake was prepared to die to make it happen.

* * *

 **So? Your opinion? I'm super excited to continue, but let me know what you think.**

 **What parts made you confused, happy, sad, etc. And, please, if you spot any grammatical errors or something of that nature, I'd appreciate it if you let me know.**

 **It's great to be back!**

 **CHEERS! : )**


	2. Famous

**I'm sure you'll notice the working title for this chapter when you start reading. I'm not sure I really like it, and some input would be nice. Feel free to include some suggestions in a review or PM. It would be a huge help. Thanks!**

 **Chapter 2 - Famous**

* * *

"This is insanity, Jake." Pearson said with gritted teeth, standing back. His arms were crossed tensely across his chest, and he glared angrily down at the youth.

Jake didn't look back, throwing his answer over his shoulder. "I didn't ask you to come. If you're going to stay, either help or shut the hell up."

Pearson scowled, looking the other direction. He muttered irritatedly under his breath, throwing a few colorful phrases in Jake's direction.

Jake ignored the man, focusing on the building in front of him. He eyed the tall metal fence, hissing with electricity. That was going to be a problem. As were the locked doors, as a matter of fact. The security cameras and guards were going to be a hindrance as well.

Jake sighed through his teeth. He had no idea how he was going to even get in alive, much less make it back out with another person in tow. He held a gun by his side, but the instrument felt useless and arbitrary in his hands. He could do twice the damage in half the time with his bare hands. Maybe he couldn't cause long distance sabotage, but the gun was practically a heap of scrap metal compared to what he could do when he was near a target.

Jake looked back at Pearson, still stubbornly avoiding his gaze. He sighed, resigned to what he had to do.

"Help me, Peter."

Pearson turned sharply, pinning Jake under his hawk-like eyes. "Why? What have you done for me?"

Hot anger rushed through Jake. He stood, and he realized absently, with some satisfaction, that he was now as tall as Pearson, having even a few inches on the older man. "Are you kidding me? I followed you everywhere for two years. I helped you search for some stupid magic solution that _didn't even exist_!" Jake stopped himself, taking a deep breath. "You owe me, Peter, and you know it."

Pearson rolled his eyes, but Jake could tell by the sudden drop of his shoulders that he'd given in. "Do you honestly think a frontal attack will work? Are you simply relying on surprise?"

"What else am I supposed to do?" Jake asked. "Wait for them to let 'em all go?"

"Psychic Work Camps are specifically designed to uphold against frontal attacks made my irrational psychics." Pearson said with a slight sneer. "This strategy does not hold a high probability of success."

"Well, then, what would?" Jake asked in exasperation.

Pearson was quiet for a moment, watching the facility. "You know, it could help to start smaller."

"What are you suggesting?"

"An easier target." Pearson said. "The same one you were broken out of."

* * *

They were like nightmares, except they weren't.

 _The fire was everywhere, in every direction. It was a monster, endlessly hungry and forever hunting._

He knew it wasn't real, but that only made it more apparent how trapped and helpless he was.

 _He felt the fire reaching for him, snatching at his legs. It crackled angrily, spreading across the ground like a disease._

He kept telling himself to WAKE UP, but he couldn't. Knew he was sleeping, but couldn't convince his brain that he didn't want to be.

 _A long scream came from his right. He spun, shielding his face from the heat, but couldn't make out anything but the flickering flames._

 _The scream halted, and started again, fiercer and more agonizing. He wanted to help, but the fire reached out for him and he had no choice but to retreat._

He just wanted to WAKE UP.

 _The yellow-eyed shadow crept up his shoulder, whispering silkily in his ear._

" _ **You can't help,"**_ _It told him. Reassured him._ _ **"You can only end the suffering."**_

 _He looked down at his hands, felt the power coursing through them, and knew what he could do. Knew the power that he possessed._

 _He raised his hand, no tremor in his fingers, and prepared to end the suffering of whatever unfortunate creature had gotten captured by the fire._

 _No matter what._

WAKE UP!

Sam's eyes opened. He saw the stone blocks above his head, functional but old fashioned, and blinked the sleep from his eyes. He pulled in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

Something felt...off. Not _wrong_ , perhaps, but just not quite how it should be. He frowned, trying to pinpoint the problem. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't scared. He didn't feel angry, or even mildly irritated.

There were no emotions, as if someone had stuck a straw in his brain and sucked them all out, good and bad.

He felt numb, as though he'd taken a bath in ice water. But at least if he had, he would've felt something. Annoyed. Cold, most likely. But he felt nothing.

No anxiety. No fear. No curiousity.

It was like being an empty box, full of nothing but air.

Slowly, Sam pushed himself up, taking in his new surroundings. He was sitting on a musty old cot in a cell with barely enough room to walk from one wall to the opposite. Reaching out, Sam realized that his fingertips were barely two feet from the wall in front of him. There was a metal toilet fixed in the corner of the room, which Sam immediately decided he would not be using under any circumstances.

The only other object in the room was a metal door with no handle. There were no windows, no paths of escape. Sam knew that he should feel panicked, but still… He felt nothing.

The last thing he remembered was the transport. Before that, the explosion, car accident, Nathan. His brain ran through the events objectively, focusing on them as if they had happened to someone else.

He looked at the bland wall across from him, and sat back, resting against the cool wall, resigning himself to a long wait.

* * *

Sam heard a clanging from the front of the room, and he looked over just as the metal door began to swing open. In stepped a tall woman with dark skin wearing an expensive looking pant suit. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she wore a tired expression.

Sam looked up at her, still feeling nothing, and knew that he should be worried about what her appearance could mean, or concerned about the fact that he still _wasn't_ feeling anything, and yet, his heart and soul remained cold and distant.

"Sam?" She spoke his name quietly, as if in fear of spooking him.

Sam met her eyes and nodded.

"My name is Patricia Walker." Taking a step inside, she closed the door behind her, and Sam heard a hiss and a click.

"What are you?" Sam asked, and his voice sounded hollow in his ears, void of inflection or tone.

"I'm a social worker. Of sorts." Patricia answered. "I mostly work here, though my work does occasionally take me elsewhere."

For the first time, Sam felt a prick of unease. Why would he be talking to a social worker? He'd known that his stunt on the highway could bring about ramifications, but could it really be so serious that he'd be Relocated? The thought sent an internal shiver down his spine.

"Sam, what you're feeling right now, or rather, what you _aren't_ feeling, it's called Emotional Sedative Syndrome." Patricia broke the news gently. "It's brought on by a certain drug called Trioximycotin. More commonly known as The Still."

Sam swallowed. "Why?" He'd heard of the creation of the drug, but it was supposedly still in production. Last he'd heard, it hadn't gotten the all clear yet, considering the moral conflict of it's purpose.

"It's protocol. We give it to every psychic that comes through here. We've found that it's more difficult for psychics to use their powers when emotion is taken out of the equation."

Sam felt a stab of indignation, quickly fading. That was supposed to be the one thing they couldn't take away. Who he was, how he felt about things. But when it came to psychics, apparently nothing was sacred.

"How long until it wears off?" Sam asked in the same deadened way.

"A couple of hours, perhaps. No longer than four, I would say." Patricia estimated with a sugary smile.

Her kind and gentle looks would have been grating on Sam's nerves, had he been able to feel irritated. The fact that he wanted to feel irritated, and couldn't, only served to make him more annoyed. Or more aware at how annoyed he would have been. The paradoxes "The Still" was causing were beginning to give him a headache.

"What do you want?"

Patricia sighed. "We know that you didn't cause the accident on the highway, Sam. Plenty of witness statements and video footage has proved that. We just want to know what happened."

Sam offered a hollow laugh. "What happened?"

Patricia nodded. "Just tell us what happened."

Sam closed his eyes, and recounted the entire awful event, re-living moment by moment, and felt nothing. No shame. No fear. No anger.

And yet, nothing made him feel worse.

* * *

"Hey, Sammy." Dean's voice was full of relief when he walked through the door.

Sam looked up, nodding silently. He sat in a stiff plastic chair in a small waiting room, bland and empty except for him. His hands were cuffed in front of him, resting on his lap.

John stood just behind Dean, a look of concern on his face. He turned to the side and murmured something to Patricia, who stood next to him.

Dean kneeled down next to Sam, gently running a hand over Sam's hairline, where blood was matted in a dry, sticky clump. Sam winced and pulled away.

"Sam's free to go." Patricia said. "An incident report will have to be filed, but all we need you to do is sign some papers."

Dean ignored her, focusing on Sam. "Where did this come from?" He asked quietly, looking at the head injury.

"I think it was when I fell." Sam said in a deadened tone. "But I can't really remember."

Dean was still, considering his expression for a moment. His hand rested comfortingly on Sam's leg, warm and steady. After a moment, he seemed satisfied with what he found.

"Come on, then." Dean stood, pulling Sam up with him. "Let's get out of here."

Patricia reached for his cuffs, unlocking them quickly and twisting them off of Sam's wrists. She led the trio to the front of the facility, gesturing to a pile of papers on a long counter. "Just sign here, please, Mr. Winchester."

John skimmed through the lines and quickly scrawled his name across the bottom.

As he read through some of the other papers, Patricia shifted her feet. "Sam was given a small of dose of Trioximycotin. It should wear off within a few hours, and you should expect subdued behavior until then. When it does wear off, watch for signs of severe mood shifts, unprovoked aggressive behavior-"

"Hold on," John interjected. "Isn't Trioximycotin an experimental drug? I thought they hadn't cleared it for use on the public yet."

Patricia lifted her nose, adopting an indifferent expression. "There were some ethical discrepancies to be discussed, but for the moment it has been cleared for use in certain facilities for high risk subjects."

Dean crossed his arms, eyes narrowing threateningly. " _Sam_ is high risk? He's the one that stopped the attack on the highway, for Christ's sake!"

Patricia turned her cool look on him. "Any psychic who is referred to us is automatically labeled high risk. It's protocol."

"But Sam-"

"If there are no other questions, you can take Sam now." Patricia said, her voice stiff. "I would like to remind you that among those papers is a confidentiality agreement. Trioximycotin still holds classified status, which means-"

"You don't want us telling people that you're drugging children." Dean growled. "You know, you're one sick bi-"

"Dean." John snapped. "That's enough." He fixed Patricia with a knowing gaze. "We'll take Sam and go."

A satisfied gleam entered Patricia's eyes. "Very wise choice, Mr. Winchester. We'll be sending you copies of these agreements, and feel free to read over the section outlining the consequences you face if you do not hold true to your promises. Among others, the DPA might find your household unsuitable to properly provide for and discipline a psychic."

Even in his numb state, Sam knew the horror that her statement imposed. If they didn't follow whatever those papers said, he could be taken away. No one would protest. No one would care. It would just be one more screwed up psychic torn away by a failed system.

* * *

The ride home was uneventful. Sam rode in the back of the Impala, while John drove and Dean stewed. Sam watched the scenery outside pass by in a blur, he was surprised when thinking about the events that had occurred yesterday brought about a twinge of sadness.

"How long did they have me?" Sam asked quietly.

"They wouldn't let us in to see you until they got witness statements and conducted a full investigation." John said. "Which took all night."

"So… It's Thursday?"

"Yep." Dean affirmed. "We tried to get you out sooner, Sammy, but…" He trailed off.

"It's okay." Sam murmured, looking back out the window.

As the Impala rolled around the corner and onto their street, Sam noticed a large gathering around their driveway. Sam groaned when he noticed the writing on the sides of the vans.

"Dammit." John muttered, slowing the car as they approached. Some of the newscastors shouted and pointed in their direction, and began to hurry towards the Impala.

"Dean, get Sam inside," John ordered, watching the near rabid reporters rush toward them armed with microphones and cameras.

"Fast as I can, Dad." Dean agreed quietly.

John slowed to a crawl as he attempted to push through the crowd. He managed to sneak up half the driveway before the pure amount of people standing around him forced him to stop.

"Ready, Sammy?" Dean said with a sly smile, hand tensed on the door handle.

Sam took a deep breath. Already, the cameras were flashing, reporters shouting questions. He locked eyes with Dean, grabbing his door handle, and nodded. They both shot out of the car, shoving people out of the way.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Sam was lost in the sea of media. A woman with long blonde hair shoved a mic in his face, shouting as loud as she could, but her question was still lost in the haze of voices. Sam thrust his head down, pushing through the people toward the front door he knew was only fifteen feet away.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm, hauling him along. Dean came up on one side, lifting Sam's jacket so that it shielded his head. John took Sam's arm on the other side, parting the crowd with force, shoving people aside.

Reporters quickly jumped to get out of the way as John Winchester stormed through their midst, ignoring the shouted questions and eager microphones.

"Please, Mr. Winchester, can we get a comment on your psychic's actions on the highway yesterday?" One earnest reporter, a young man with styled hair, asked sharply, his voice barely registered over the noise pollution of the crowd. "How many more media spectacles can we expect from your psychic?"

Sam felt John's hand tighten on his arm, and glanced up to see his mouth twist into a scowl. They reached the front door, and John forced it open quickly, thrusting Sam and Dean into their home. He turned back to the throng of reporters covering their entire lawn, so much so that no grass could be seen underfoot, and raised his fist threateningly.

"I want you off my property in ten minutes!" He roared angrily. "And we have _no damn comment_!"

John stepped inside and slammed the door with finality. Sam collapsed onto the stairs, panting in exhaustion. Dean flopped down next to him, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. "Just like old times, right, Sammy?"

Sam scoffed, closing his eyes. It was just like two years ago. The endless sea of reporters, harassing them at every turn. He felt the same suffocation he did now, with the knowledge that a step outside would mean thousands of pictures plastered all over the internet. He felt a wave of nausea at the thought of spending weeks trapped inside.

"Sam!" Mary's panicked voice came from the kitchen. She ran into the front hall, her eyes wide and frantic. When she spotted Sam, her shoulders wilted with relief, and she swept him into a tight hug, holding him close.

Sam closed his eyes, feeling her cool hand on the back of his neck. "It's good to see you," He admitted weakly.

"Samuel Winchester, what were you thinking?" Mary cried, pulling back to take a look at his face. "I was worried sick! Don't you dare do anything like that ever again!"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam agreed with a smile.

Relief and exhaustion in her eyes, Mary took a deep breath, pressing her lips firmly to Sam's forehead. "What am I going to do with you?"

* * *

"Right there," Pearson pointed. "The cameras are pointed out at the far fences, and the guards leave an unguarded stretch there during their shift change."

Jake studied the ten feet of fencing that Pearson was gesturing to. If he were to get in through there, he would have to scale the fence to get over, find a way to climb up the wall to the nearest window, pick the lock on the window, and get through without alerting anyone on the inside. All within a few minutes while the guards were changing positions.

"Peter, this is impossible."

"It's not," Pearson disagreed haughtily. "You just aren't looking at all of your options."

"What are my options?" Jake asked sarcastically. "I can't do what Ansem did and just _ask_ them to hand over the psychics."

"Perhaps not, but you are forgetting that Ansem was utilizing an advantage that you also share." Pearson quirked an eyebrow. "Your powers."

"How is strength going to help if I'm trying to sneak in?" Jake asked. "Busting down walls isn't exactly stealthy."

A wicked smile spread across Pearson's face. "Who said your tactic had to be stealth, Jake?"

Jake sighed. "Peter, I can't just bust my way through. You said something about a mutiny, right?"

"Exactly. In order to organize a mutiny, you need someone on the inside, as well as a way to communicate." He pointed again to the ten feet stretch of fencing. "Right there is the perfect spot."

Jake frowned in confusion. "They let them outside for twenty minutes a day. Would that be long enough?"

Pearson grinned. "Yes. That would be plenty."

* * *

"I'm sorry, Maia, I hate to call it off, but…" Sam trailed off, figuring that the rest was self explanatory.

"I know, it's okay." Maia relented. "God, Sam, you worried me so much."

"I am sorry, Maia. I didn't think-"

"No, you obviously didn't think!" Maia interrupted. Though they were talking over the phone, Sam could imagine her expression. "You know how terrified I was, Sam? There was a report of some psychic incident on the highway and I saw Dean in the footage and I tried to call you but no one would pick up and I thought that you were hurt or taken or _dead_ -"

"Maia!" Sam stopped her, talking loudly into the phone. "I know, okay? I hear you."

Dean caught his eye from across the room, smiling tiredly and shaking his head. _Chicks, right?_ Sam grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't call before now, but things were kind of crazy. Reporters swarming the house, and calls are coming in every minute."

"Sounds like someone's famous again, huh?"

"Infamous, more like it." Sam sighed. "A lot of people are blaming me for what happened. Saying that since I have precognition, I should have seen it coming. Or that I _did_ see it coming, and wanted the attention from rescuing everyone there, rather than telling someone about it."

"But that's so stupid!" Maia scoffed. "It's not like you're a machine or something, and it isn't your job to predict everything that's happening."

Sam smiled. "Thanks. It's good to hear you say that."

"Hey, when was your last vision, anyway?" Maia asked. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Sam paused, thinking back. "I guess it was last week, with the werewolf attack in Canton."

"Oh, right. That was when we were at the park, right?" Sam could hear the smile in her voice.

Sam laughed, remembering the occasion. "Yeah, that was it."

Maia laughed loudly. "Oh my god, and that one woman freaked out, wanted to call the police and everything. She screaming about her dog, like you were going to infect it with your powers or something."

Despite the severity that situation had held, Maia's rendition of the event made Sam laugh. "You remember it a lot nicer than I do."

"Well, that makes sense, since you were writhing on the ground in unbelievable pain."

"Wow, Maia, thanks. I'd nearly forgotten about that part."

"No problem." Maia said, still chuckling. "That's what I'm here for."

"Yeah." Sam sighed contentedly. "I'll call you back if anything changes, okay? I might be able to sneak away."

"Sure, Sam. Don't take any risks, though, hear me?" Maia said with concern. "I like my boyfriends in one piece."

"Boyfriends?" Sam gasped in mock surprise. "Plural?"

"Oh, shut up, you big dummy." Maia laughed. "Now hang up before I make Dean beat you up."

"Please, I can take him." Sam scoffed.

"Sure, doofus." There was a pause. "Bye."

"Bye."

Sam waited a moment before hanging up the phone, just listening to the silence between them. There was something magical about knowing that she was still there, listening just as he was. That even though neither of them were talking, they were still together, still connected. He pressed the End button gently, hoping that she was, too, at the same time he was.

"You're such a romantic." Dean teased. "It's kind of adorable."

Sam ignored the baiting and proceeded into the front hall. The curtains were drawn on all of the windows, but Mary was peeking out every few minutes, worry carving lines on her face.

"Any change?" Sam asked dutifully, not expecting that anything had.

"No," Mary sighed. "I just wish they would leave you alone. Bad enough you went through that ordeal in the first place, without those vultures making everything worse."

Sam studied Mary for a moment. After living with her and her family for over two years, he felt that he knew the family pretty well. Well enough that he knew Mary wouldn't be comforted by words. She needed to do something in this moment, something that she felt would make _him_ feel better. And if that meant keep watch on the reporters outside, that's what she would do.

"Hey, Mary, would you mind making me something to eat?" Sam asked nonchalantly. "I never had any breakfast and I'm pretty famished."

"Of course, Sam." Mary said, immediately moving to go to the kitchen. She paused for a moment to kiss his head and wrap him in another tight hug. "I'm really glad you're okay, Sam."

"Me, too." Sam joked quietly. Mary pulled away, smiling, and continued to the kitchen.

Sam paused before he followed her, moving the curtains aside slightly to look out onto the lawn. Most of the reporters were meandering around, reviewing notes, practicing lines, or conversing with their cameramen. A few of the reporters had gotten into a fight, and were shouting at each other with mics primed to be used as weapons. All were showing no indication of leaving.

Sam's shoulders dropped. Exactly like two years before. It would be forever before be could venture outside again.

"What's with the long face?" Dean cracked as he approached. He shared the window with Sam, looking out on the lawn.

"They're never going to give up, are they?" Sam asked in a defeated voice.

"They did two years ago." Dean forced an upbeat tone. "Don't give up hope, Sammy."

"Sure." Sam sighed and turned away.

"Hey, what's that?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean had been pulling this trick for the past week, and though Sam had only fallen for it the first time, Dean seemed to find it hilarious to remind him of it.

"I'm not stupid, Dean." Sam said stubbornly. "I'm not going to fall for that."

"No, seriously, Sam, come here." Something in Dean's voice convinced Sam that he wasn't kidding this time. Sam turned back and looked out the window, his breath stolen from him at the sight.

Four police cars pulled onto the street, lights spinning brightly. A nice red car followed closely behind. They parked outside the Winchester's house, two officer's stepping out from each car.

Sam stumbled back a step, head spinning wildly. What had he done? Did one of the witnesses say that he'd done something that he hadn't? Did the DPA decide that he broke the contract? Were the officers here for something else that he'd done? Sam thought frantically, but he couldn't think of any other infraction he'd committed. At least, not recently.

"What's going on?" Mary rushed in, with John on her heels.

"The cops are here." Dean said in a low voice.

Mary gasped and reached for Sam, holding him tightly, as though that could prevent the DPA from taking him away. John joined Dean, looking out the window.

"Mary, Sam, come here." He ordered quietly. He moved out of the way so that they could see.

One of the officers was standing on the hood of his car, and yelling into a large megaphone. Sam couldn't make out his words, but he could see that the crowd on their front lawn wasn't taking it very well. Some of the reporters shouted angrily, but the cop ignored them.

Sam's eyes widened as the reporters began to collect their supplies and follow their cameramen to the various van's parked on the street and driveway. One by one, each van pulled away, leaving only a few stragglers who hurried to meet the officer's demands.

"Can he do that?" Dean asked in reverence. "I mean, I'm glad he did, but is that legal? Freedom of the press and all that?"

"They were trespassing." Sam said in the same tone. "John told them to leave and they didn't. I guess that's enough. Maybe if they'd stayed on the street, you know, public property…"

A woman stepped out of the red car and stopped by the cop, saying a few words to him. He nodded, gesturing to the rest to get back into their cars. Three drove off, leaving only one patrol car behind.

The woman walked up the sidewalk to the front door, holding a large brown briefcase.

Dean whistled, watching her approach. "She's not to hard on the eyes." He said with a raised eyebrow.

Sam stared at his brother in utter exasperation and disgust. "Really?"

"What?" Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, not the time, I get it."

Despite his horseplay, when the woman rang the doorbell, Dean grabbed Sam's arm instinctively, shifting in front of him and acting as a shield. John went to answer the door, opening it a few inches. Sam heard her speak in a high, soft voice, though he couldn't make out her words. John responded quietly, and opened the door wider to let her through.

Sam felt a stab of fear. Although Dean and John would want to, if this was a social worker coming to take him away, there was nothing they could do. Nothing they could say, no one they could call to stop her. He might have been Accepted by the Winchesters, but the DPA always held the right to Relocate psychics. They didn't even really need a reason.

The woman smiled at the three of them while John shut the door behind her. She wore a nice, expensive looking suit jacket with a skirt made of the same material. Her heels were high, and she stood nearly as tall as John. Her curly auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, with a few strands dangling around her face.

She offered a warm smile. "My name is Jenna Forrester. I'm here to talk to Sam. Well-"

"Why don't we talk somewhere more comfortable?" Mary suggested before Jenna could get out another word. She led the group into the family room, offering drinks.

"Actually, a glass of water would be wonderful, Mrs. Winchester." Jenna said as she took a seat on the armchair.

"Thank you." Dean blurted out, seated beside Sam on the couch. "For getting rid of the reporters."

Jenna rolled her eyes at the mention of reporters. "No problem. The media is such a bother, nowadays. I have some connections in the sheriff's department, and they were extremely willing to help."

"Well, we do appreciate it." John said. "We wouldn't have been able to-"

"Why are you here?" Sam asked suddenly. He would've waited for the right time, but the suspense was killing him. She seemed too kind to be a social worker, and had given no indication that she was there to aid in his Relocation, but if that was where the conversation was going, he wanted to know from the beginning. "Who are you?"

"Forgive me, I'm a bit… scrambled." Jenna said with an apologetic smile. "It's been a confusing few days."

Mary reentered the room, carrying a glass of water. Jenna accepted it gratefully.

"As I've already said, my name is Jenna Forrester. I am the founder and president of the Psychic Liberty Foundation." Jenna explained.

"Psychic Liberty Foundation?" Dean repeated. "I've never heard of them."

"Well, it was founded only about five years ago, and we haven't been very active since then." Jenna said. "We try to raise awareness about psychics, and the true horror of the conditions that they grow up in. The problem is, so much of what the DPA controls is unregulated and extremely classified. We can't get permission to visit Work Camps or Waiting Homes."

"Sounds like very respectable work," Mary commented in a reserved voice.

"Thank you," Jenna smiled. "It can be frustrating at times, but it's nice to know that we're attempting to change things."

"What does any of this have to do with Sam?" Dean asked.

Jenna shifted in her seat. "We'd like Sam to help us. As I said before, we can't get any clearance to visit Waiting Homes or Work Camps. And God knows we'd never be allowed in a Processing Facility."

Sam felt a shudder run down his spine at the words. "Well, what do you need me for?" He asked suspiciously. "It's not like I can get you those things."

"Sam, you're one of the few psychics that have been in a work camp and made it out again. We want to hear your story."

"My story?" Sam shook his head. "I don't…"

"That's not all." Jenna leaned forward. "Sam, we want people to see that psychics are human. In reality, psychics shouldn't even be classified as anything other than human. They're like any other human in the world with asthma, or an unusually strong immune system. Not freaks." She smiled. "Just different. Special."

Sam blinked in shock. Other than his family and Maia, no one had ever expressed that kind of viewpoint before. He'd never doubted that they felt that way, but he'd always thought that no one else did.

"We need…" Jenna searched for the right word. "A spokesperson, of sorts. An icon. It's one thing to have a bunch of wannabe politicians spouting nonsense about psychic rights, but if we could have someone for the public to connect to... Someone that could show them that psychics are just like everyone else… It could really help us reach people."

Sam sat back. "You want to interview me or something? Like you said, my story?"

"We need more than that, Sam. We want you to _represent_ the Psychic Liberty Foundation." Jenna let that sink in.

Sam stared numbly at her, at a loss for words. Mary filled in. "What exactly would that entail?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure." Jenna admitted. "My colleagues and I just came to an agreement about this a few hours ago. But it would include speeches. TV interviews, most likely. We aren't asking that he move anywhere. He could stay here, in Lawrence, for the most part."

Jenna waited for a moment, and then stood. "I'll let you consider this for a few days. I understand it must be a lot to take in." She pulled a card from her pocket and handed it to Sam. He inspected the card, which held her name, title, and phone number. "Please let me know within a few days what you decide. And feel free to contact me if you have any questions."

For a moment, Sam stood quietly. He heard the front door open, and suddenly he sprung into action. "Wait!" he called, running to the front door.

Jenna was patiently standing by the front door.

"Why?" He asked when he got there. "Why did you pick me?"

"We saw what happened yesterday, Sam." Jenna smiled. "Well, my brother saw. He was in one of the wrecked cars. He told me about the psychic who was about to hurt a bunch of people." She smiled. "And then he told me about the other psychic who stopped him."

Jenna put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I knew when I heard that that you were the one we needed. That you were the one that could turn everything around."

"But who would listen to me?" Sam protested. "After everything that happened… You know about the incident two years ago?"

A small smile curved Jenna's lips. "Yeah, Sam, I did my research before coming here. But that only convinces me more. You've seen what some people do because of psychics. You've faced true evil. And you'll be able to convince people that evil is exactly what psychics are not."

Sam opened his mouth again, but Jenna interrupted him. "Just think about it, okay? Talk to your family. And contact me as soon as you have an answer."

* * *

Jake crouched next to the "blind spot", waiting patiently. His heart pounded nervously, even though Pearson had assured him that the plan was foolproof. Of course, Pearson had promised that a lot of things were foolproof, which wasn't always proven to be true.

He eyed the building with distrust, his lip curling at the sight of the atrocious structure. He was torn by the decision to come back here. Although he'd love to get some revenge for the years spent in that hell-hole, the pain of returning almost wasn't worth it.

Waiting Homes were supposed to be the least awful part of a psychic's experiences. At the very least, they were around others like them. Usually, the officials didn't care enough to make their stay miserable. And, they were finally out of the Processing Facility, which was all most of them cared about once they got there.

In fact, Jake wouldn't have normally wanted to attack a Waiting Home. In theory, they weren't that bad. It was the Work Camps and Processing Facilities that were the problems. Those were the places that held the most suffering. Waiting Homes were tame by comparison.

 _Not this one, though._ Jake thought with a scowl. _This one has to burn._

"Do you think tearing up the fence on the northern side will be enough?" Jake whispered behind him, where Pearson was sitting concealed in the bushes.

"Well, if it isn't, we should find out soon enough, won't we?" Pearson muttered with a hard edge.

Jake rolled his eyes and focused back on the building. According to what he remembered, any harm done to the outside fence would result in that side of the yard being cut off until the damage could be fixed. And, in compliance with certain regulations that Waiting Homes were required to follow, psychics had to be allowed outside sometime, for at least twenty minutes a day.

So, someone had to come to this side. Eventually.

Of course, Jake remembered how many of the regulations were actually followed in the Waiting home. When he'd been there, food had been a privilege, not a right. A privilege earned by earnest groveling and lack of dignity. Beatings had been handed out regularly. Going outside was a treat, one that was only given because there would have been full scale rioting otherwise.

So there was always the chance that the officials in charge of the Waiting Home had simply decided to ignore the regulations. It wasn't like anyone was going to check up on them, not like anyone would care. And even if they did, it would be easy enough for anyone checking to turn a blind eye.

Suddenly, movement around the corner caught Jake's eye. A small, scrawny kid with flaming orange hair rounded the building, followed by two taller boys who Jake automatically assumed were bullies coming after a weaker target. However, after closer examination, Jake realised the two boys were following the shrimp, like cronies following their leader.

Jake picked up the small rock he'd pilfered from the forest, and chucked it into the yard. It landed a few feet from the redhead, who looked up in shock. His eyes narrowed as he looked around the empty space. Jake waited until he was looking in the right direction, and then waved, catching the boy's attention.

The redhead's eyes widened, and he slowly crossed the space to Jake's hiding spot. Jake ignored the urge to hurry the boy over, and forced himself to be patient. He had to earn this kid's trust, and he couldn't seem too desperate.

When the boy reached him, he stayed a good two feet away and crossed his arms. His lackeys followed suit. The boy took in Jake's appearance, judging him silently.

"So, what are you?" He asked.

"My name is Jake, and-" Jake began.

"I don't give a crap what your name is," The boy sneered. "You a psychic, or a human just here to gloat?"

"Psychic," Jake confirmed quietly.

Some of the arrogance melted off of the boy's face. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to…" Jake trailed off, considering his words. 'Help' was too lame. 'Rescue you' would just tick him off. A grin spread across his face.

"I'm here because I need some backup." Jake said. "This place is going down, one way or another. But I thought you seemed like the kind who'd want to exact some revenge."

The boy considered Jake's offer, watching him carefully. A mirror smile curled his own lip. "Am I ever."

"Good." Jake said. "In order for this to work, you gotta be my eyes on the inside. Are you in?"

"Definitely," The boy affirmed.

"Alright…" Jake trailed off. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Finny," The boy introduced himself. He gestured behind him. "This is Abraham and Duke."

"Nice to meet you, boys." Jake grinned, feeling hopeful for the first time all day. "We got work to do."

* * *

 **Hey, guys. Sorry it took me so long to post this next chapter. We went on vacation over break, and I wasn't able to post until we got back.**

 **Let me know what you think. What's your reaction to Jenna's proposal? How do you think his family will react? Of course, constructive criticism is always encouraged and appreciated.**

 **Cheers!**


	3. Brick by Brick

**Chapter 3 - Brick by Brick**

* * *

"No, Sam, absolutely not!" Mary cried.

"Why not?"

"Because that kind of attention will make people angry and emotional, and people do heinous things when they are angry and emotional."

"I don't care how they'll _feel_ about it! If people don't want to hear about this stuff, they shouldn't have let it happen in the first place."

"Sam, I don't care how they feel about it, either. But when people get emotional about things, rationality goes out the window. They could hurt you or this family, and I will not allow that to happen."

"John and Dean are hunters! They could protect us if anything happened, which it wouldn't. And I can take care of myself."

"It isn't about whether they would be able to, Sam, I just don't want it to get to a point where they would have to. This whole thing is a horrible idea."

"I have to do this. Why can't you understand that?"

"I understand that you think you need to, but it isn't safe!"

"I don't give a damn about how safe it is-"

"-Samuel Winchester, you will _not_ curse in this home-"

"-I can't stand by and watch anymore! I finally have a chance to make a difference for once, and I'm not going to let it go by without taking advantage!"

"My answer is _no_ , Sam, and that isn't going to change."

"Fine!" Sam slammed the door to his room, the impact shaking the whole room. He stood, chest heaving, anger simmering in his veins.

It was the same argument they'd been having for a day and a half. He wanted to take Jenna's offer and work with the Psychic Liberty Foundation, and Mary was hard set against letting that happen. He wanted to make a difference, and she wanted to keep him safe.

She didn't understand what it felt like to have to live with the crap that psychics had to deal with, day in and day out. How awful it was to be suffocated by injustice but without the tools to fix it. Sam had felt that suffocation, that anger, a lot at first when he'd been taken. After a while, though, he'd learned how to bury those feelings. Shoved them down so far that they didn't bother him anymore. It was easier to be numb, because being angry never got him anything but trouble.

But now, it was like those four years of buried anger was resurfacing, burning within him like a horde of suns. He couldn't just stand by and do nothing when he had the chance to change something for the better.

Mary thought she was protecting him. But really, she was just keeping everything frozen as it was, preventing anything from changing.

Sam clenched his fists and halted his pacing, anger building upside him. He went to grab his bag, resolving to go outside and take a walk, when a trophy on top of his dresser went flying across the room, crashing into the wall.

Sam froze, looking at the small dent in the wall. A wave of cold washed over him, and the rage disappeared. Swallowing nervously, he went over to the fallen trophy, now snapped in two, and fingered the remains. He hadn't meant to do that. Hadn't thought about it or decided to.

Although, that wasn't exactly how his telekinesis worked most of the time. It was directly linked to his emotions. Seemed to only work when he was angry or upset, times when he was overwhelmed with fear or anger.

Lately, though, he'd been noticing changes. Little things. Stuff that might not even register normally… The salt shaker rattling when John talked about a hunt gone wrong. His door drifting shut when he wanted to be alone. His pencil being blown off his desk in frustration.

Sam looked at an empty glass sitting on his desk, and slowly lifted his hand. He stared at the object, focusing with all his might. He strained, trying to pull the glass along, even a little. If he could fling a trophy across the room, why couldn't he just move the glass an inch?

Sam gave up, sighing heavily. It had to just be emotional. High emotions activated the telekinesis, made it strong. And uncontrollable.

He grabbed his bag, hanging on the headboard of his bed, and slung it over his shoulder. As he did, he heard a _DING_ chime from the inside pocket. Sam pulled out his phone, spotting a new message glowing on the screen, from Maia.

 _Can u sneak away?_

He quickly thumbed a response. _Yep. Reporters gone. Long story._

Maia texted back instantly. _Tell me when you get here. Meet at park?_

 _Yep. Be there soon._

 _I'm waiting._

Sam smiled, wanting to hurry even though he knew Maia would wait. He checked that he had his wallet tucked inside, and started to leave, hesitating for a moment as he considered whether he wanted to bring his bulky bag with him. Sam dropped the bag, pulling his wallet and phone out and tucking them into his jacket. He checked that he had his tag fastened securely around his neck, and again made for the door.

He glanced back once, thinking that he should take the glass downstairs and put it in the dishwasher, to save Mary some time, but a sense of stubbornness and irritation changed his mind. It was irrational, wasn't like one lingering dish would make things even between them, but Sam still let it sit out of a sense of justice.

He waved his hand, dismissing the idea, and hurried out into the hallway. As his door swung shut, the glass shot a few inches to the right, teetering on the edge for a moment before falling to the carpet. The glass rolled into the chair leg, clinking quietly against the metal surface.

* * *

Sam shivered, hands tucked deep in his pockets, as he walked quickly down the street. The season was right on the brink of fall, the warm, blissful summer days quickly fading into the short, cold ones of fall. Leaves on the trees were beginning to brown, their dead weight weighing too heavily on the branches as they waited for the ground, for the moment they would fall from the branch and end up on the grass.

Sam pulled in a deep breath, relishing the sting of cold air in his lungs. It made him feel alive. Free. The air teemed with the smoky smell of autumn, a quiet promise of change to come.

It was strange how quickly fall came upon them. Sam looked about him, noticing the slight browning of leaves, the chill in the air. That sense that winter was on it's way. Many people didn't notice the signs, wouldn't see that summer was coming to an end until all of the leaves blew from the trees in a hailstorm of wind, and the temperature dipped low enough to freeze the morning dew. Many people didn't see the change coming until it was already upon them.

As Sam trudged up the path into the park, he noticed a slight figure sitting on the swings, rocking slowly back and forth. Sam fought back a smile as he approached.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I'm looking for my girlfriend. Have you seen her?" Sam asked. He held a hand way above his head. "She's about seven feet tall, dark hair? Probably looks like she could beat me up?"

Maia grinned, looking up. "You know I could."

Sam took a seat next to her, pushing himself with his toes. "Yeah, I know."

"And I'm not that tall." Maia said defensively. She'd been insistent about this since her growth spurt a year ago, when she'd shot up almost as much as Sam had. He still stood a few inches taller than her, but it was fun to tease her about it.

Sam reached over and gently took her hand. "No, you're perfect."

"And you're a kissup." Maia shot back, though Sam saw her cheeks redden with a blush.

Sam took in Maia for a moment, with her shiny dark hair falling like a curtain around her shoulders. Her small hands, clad in fingerless gloves, tightly gripping the swing chains, fingernails painted with a fiercely purple polish chipping at the ends. She wore jeans, tucked into combat boots, which were laced up tightly. A leather jacket covered her top, accented with a scarf that didn't match anything at all and yet somehow tied everything together.

"So, are we going to go, or do you want to stare at me for a few more minutes?"

"Is that an option?"

Maia laughed, standing up. Sam followed her, taking her hand as they walked toward the sidewalk lining the street.

"You're beautiful, you know that, right?" He said, squeezing her hand gently.

"And you're too sweet." Maia smiled, leaning in to kiss him gently on the cheek. "Now, no more flattery. You promised me a story."

"That I did." Sam nodded. He ran through the entire story, starting with the highway incident and ending with Jenna's proposal.

Maia was quiet, listening intently as he talked. Their hands stayed linked as he spoke, his other hand moving to emphasize his words. When he finished, they walked in silence for a few blocks, listening to the sound of late afternoon traffic.

"Sam…" Maia began. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "Mary doesn't think I should do it, but I mean… How can I pass it up?"

Maia nodded, considering her words carefully. "You think she's legit?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, do you think this foundation really exists? It isn't just some publicity stunt or something?"

Sam scoffed. "Pretty stupid way to gain publicity for something. Giving a speech about psychic injustice-"

"Would get a lot of publicity." Maia pointed out.

"And make a lot of people angry. Which is why no one would ever want to do it unless they honestly thought it needed to be said."

"But why you?" Maia asked, worry tight in her voice. "Sam, I can see that this is important to you, and I agree with you. Honestly, I do. People need to know about psychics and what they're going through. But why does it have to be you? Why can't they just get your story and do the rest of the work?"

"C'mon, Maia, it's like those speeches they give in school about wars. If an expert on the topic gives it, it's just a statistic. A number. It's horrible, but doesn't seem real. If a veteran talks about it, it's a story. It's horrible, and it makes them see that it _is_ real."

"But people don't hate veterans!" Maia said loudly. She stopped, looking Sam dead in the eye. "No one wants to hurt veterans. But people don't like psychics. A lot of people, Sam. And if you do this, you become the target of all of that hate. You give a name to the unnameable thing that makes them so mad. You give them a face to point fingers and blame and _weapons_ at."

"You're the one always telling me to stand up to the prejudice!" Sam fired back. "Telling me not to take their crap and to never back down."

"That's different!" Maia shouted. "That's stupid teachers or bullies on the street or bus drivers that won't let you get on. This is more, Sam. This is a country full of people who would love to see you _dead._ " She spat the word. "This isn't a game, Sam! You could get hurt, or disappear, or get killed, and I would never see you again."

"Maia…" Sam reached out, taking her face in his hands. "I would never leave you."

Maia choked a laugh. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I know." Sam pressed his lips to her forehead and pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her. "Maia, I promise that nothing bad will happen."

"You can't promise that, Sam." Maia whispered into his denim jacket. "What if something happened to me?"

Sam felt a surge of adrenaline run down his spine. He tightened his grip, holding her fiercely. "I will never let that happen." He promised in a quiet whisper. "I swear, Maia, I won't let anything happen to you."

* * *

The building was serene, quiet, standing stoic in the afternoon light. A slight breeze blew across the yard, rustling the branches of the pine trees and blowing a sweet smell into Jake's face.

He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. Soon. As soon as heard the creaking, everything would begin.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Jake?" Pearson murmured, hidden in the shadows behind him. "There will be consequences."

"We can't hide anymore, Pearson." Jake said. "We both know that your goals are much different than mine, but neither of us will succeed by ourselves." He looked back at the older man, his gaunt face sliced by the shadows.

"Do you still believe in what we set out to do, Jake?" Pearson hissed. "We were going to be the settlers of a new world, bring about a new reality by burning away the old one."

"I still believe in that," Jake said sharply. "But we can't do it alone. We need these psychics, just like we need Azazel."

Pearson nodded, a temporary warmth washing over his features. "It will be an awakening like no other."

Jake closed his eyes again, feeling the breeze tug at his clothes. He wanted that new reality, that instant change that Azazel promised them. He wanted to see the old one burned away, in a hailstorm of fire and brimstone. And he would. He would free Pearson's master, his master. They would both see that fiery day.

But first, he wanted to tear as much of the world apart as he could.

The metal fence creaked, bending in the wind. But then the wind died, and the fence still creaked, swaying slightly back and forth.

 _Creak, creak, creak._

Jake's eyes opened. That was Duke's signal, moving the metal fence with his psychic gift. It was time. Determination settled like an iron fist over his heart. He reached out and gripped the fence with one hand, tearing it away with a single pull. A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth.

He would tear it all apart, brick by brick, with his bare hands.

Jake charged around to the front of the Home, aware that he would be setting off all kinds of alarms as he went. A deep thrill raced through his veins, and he felt truly alive for the first time in weeks. Months, even.

Jake picked up a loose chunk of rock from the ground and hurled it at the closest camera. He howled in triumph when it made contact, knocking the target off of it's mount. He slammed a fist into the building's brick wall, the stone crumbling on contact. A animalistic rage took over, and he tore into the wall, tearing as much of it down as he could. It was as easy as knocking down a sand castle.

A klaxon siren rang out over the grounds, piercing and almost painful. Jake roared, charging out again towards the front of the property. He had a destination, and a goal. One that he would die to accomplish.

He heard the men before he saw them. Combat boots clomping against the ground in perfect synchrony. A squad of about fifteen fully trained army men, if Jake remembered correctly. Waiting Homes always had more and better security than other places, even Camps. It was no fun to bully the ones that could fight back. After all, you never hit a dog you know will bite back.

But there was never resistance in Waiting Homes. Traumatized from processing, homesick and afraid, totally alone in the world and feeling abandoned by everyone they've ever loved, a psychic thrown into a Waiting Home would never fight back. They took the abuse, they always took it, accepting the pain and fear as reality.

Well, Jake was building a new reality. And this was the beginning.

The plan flew out of his head as the squad came running around the corner. Rage filled his every thought, and he let out a primal roar, charging toward the men like an animal. Some of the men stopped, raising their weapons and centering him in their crosshairs.

Jake knew that these soldiers carried lethal weapons. In the event of emergency, they were allowed to use them. And after the damage he'd caused, nobody would question their decision to use deadly force. He knew that he should be running in the other direction, or giving up and pleading for his life. Even then, there would be no guarantee that they would spare him.

But the thought of pleading for his life in front of those weak, puny humans filled him with an icy determination. If he was going to die, it would be freeing his fellow psychics. It would be going down in a hailstorm of bullets and anger and fighting. He would not die on his knees.

Suddenly, the wall next to the soldiers exploded with such violent force that Jake knew it had to be Abraham. No man-made device could cause that much devastation. Not the kinds that they stored in that building, anyhow.

Men flew in all directions, landing in piles, on top of each other, moaning in pain and some not making any sound at all. A smoking hole stood where a wall used to, and crumbling bricks fell around it like stairsteps.

There was a ringing in Jake's ears, and he stared at the people lying prone on the ground. Broken and bleeding. A fierce sense of satisfaction burned in his veins.

Children and adults poured out of the hole in the wall. Some screaming in fear, others in jubilation. Some running for help, others for freedom. The recently freed children clambered against the metal fence, all fighting to reach the top first. The adults, the nurses and orderlies and guards and social workers, all sprinted for the opposite direction, running to get as far away as they could. So they could escape the fate that they had brought upon themselves with their cruelty.

Jake would be damned if he would let them.

He spotted a face among the crowd, a small red-haired child followed closely by two older boys. Finny spotted him, laughing and sauntering over. Jake ran quickly, grabbing his arm tightly.

"I need to get their attention," Jake shouted to be heard over the clamor.

Finny nodded, tapping one of the cronies on the arm, the bigger one with dark hair that hung into his eyes. Abraham raised his hands above his head, a sizzle sounding in the air before he clapped them together. A flash lit above his hair, quickly accented by a boom that knocked everyone off their feet.

Jake held his footing, determined to be standing when everyone looked to the commotion. He glanced over his shoulder to see the pack of adults recovering on the ground, shaking their heads and trying to push themselves up.

He looked back at the group of children, also recovering from the unexpected explosion. Some had fallen from the fence and lay crying on the ground, clutching an arm or a leg. Jake stood tall, summoning back the fire in his veins.

"My name is Jake, and I will lead you out of here."

His words were met with empty stares and uncomprehending looks.

"We can't put up with this crap any longer!" He shouted, and a few shouted back in support. "It's time we fought _back_ , and put them in _our_ shoes!"

More shouting raised his confidence, and Jake threw his fist in the air. "This is the day that they will always remember as the day we had enough. The day we finally decided that they get a taste of their own medicine. The day that psychics stood together, fought together, and _won together!_ "

A rousing cheer came from the crowd as the majority got to their feet. Jake saw the fire in their eyes, mirroring his own, and power raced through him like a drug.

"Now, more than ever, we can't forget who the enemy is! And what they did to us!" Jake shouted. He pointed back to the group of adults, shakily getting to their feet. "They are the enemy! And it's time we showed them what it feels like to be us!"

The crowd roared, charging past Jake toward the cluster. One man looked up, and his eyes widened fearfully. He dropped the hand of the young woman he was helping to her feet and ran toward the fence, quickly scaling the woven metal and dropping over the other side. Another woman followed him with a man right on her heels.

The rest weren't so lucky.

The wave of children hit the people first, knocking them off their feet. Then small, individual fists landed all over their bodies. Feet landed, knees hit. Jake let it go on for a few minutes before he whistled shrilly, halting all movement.

Jake approached slowly. There was a young woman with brown hair and blue scrubs crying loudly on the grass, a cut over her eye sending a trail of blood down her face. An older man with a gray crew cut and worn guard uniform stared up in open defiance, gritting his teeth in anger and prodding a split lip with one finger. And a young man in a rumpled suit groaned into the grass, one arm wrapped around his midsection.

 _Pathetic._ Jake thought with a snarl. _All of them._

"What do you think of us now?" Jake hissed at the group.

"Please…" The woman sobbed, tears mixing with her blood in the grass. "I have children!"

" _We_ are children." Jake snapped at her, and she flinched away, still crying. "Did you ever think about that? Ever go home to your precious little babies and think about the children you left here, starving and crying and hurt and alone? Or did you forget that we're children, too?"

"You aren't children," The older man barked at him, his lip curled in hate. "You aren't even human!"

One of the psychics near him threw a fist across his face, and the man's head jerked to the side. He looked back, spitting a glob of spit and blood into the dirt near Jake's foot. "Abominations! All of you!" He growled. "You deserve to rot in Hell."

Jake narrowed his eyes. "Then I guess it makes two of us."

Jake waved Finny over, whispering quietly in his ear. Finny smiled viciously, pointing out a little girl in the crowd. She looked shocked to be singled out, but stepped forward, walking over to Jake.

He looked down on her for a moment. "What's your name?"

"Penny," She answered in a small voice. Her mousy hair fell just to her shoulders, and a pink headband held it back. She wore a soft skirt that had gotten torn and dirtied in the scuffle. She couldn't have been older than nine.

"Penny, Finny told me you're pretty hot," Jake said with a smile.

Penny hesitated before nodding slightly.

"Well, then, would you mind doing something for me?" He asked, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

Penny looked up with wide eyes. "I don't know how well I'll be able to do that," She whispered in a scared voice.

"Penny, look at those people." Jake took her shoulders, turning her towards the adults. "They hate you. The fat one wants you dead." The guard fixed him with a hateful stare, and Penny shrinked back. Jake held firm, forcing her to stay forward.

"You don't have to be afraid, Penny. You can make _them_ afraid." Jake said, holding her shoulders tightly. "You can make them always remember what we can do."

Penny whimpered. "I don't want to do that."

"Penny, it'll be easy. Fun, even-"

Penny's shoulders started shaking, and she shook her head frantically. "I can't, please, I don't want to!" She cried, looking at the adults with wide eyes.

Jake tried to reign her back in, but tears were welling in her wide eyes, and her lower lip was pronounced, pleas and cries bubbling forth.

Finny glared at Penny, and turned to the crowd again. "Jade!" he called out.

The crowd parted for a girl with tightly braided hair and dark skin. She snarled at the adults, causing the young nurse to scream and collapse back into tears.

"Can she do the job?" Jake asked, still holding tight to Penny's shoulders.

Finny nodded. "Penny would be better equipped, but Jade'll get it done."

She sashayed over to his side, leaning an ear up to listen. Jake murmured his request quietly, and Jade smiled wickedly.

"I would be happy to oblige." Jade purred as she stalked over to the three adults, the tips of her fingers instantly engulfed in flame.

The setting sun sent rays of red shooting across the horizon. It was the perfect setting for the occasion. As the first scream pierced the serene quiet of the grounds, Jake stared at the chaos, the broken building and the broken people. The only thing that wasn't broken was the fire inside of him, burning stronger than ever.

He held Penny's shoulders tightly, forcing her to watch even as she twisted away, trying to tuck her face into his shirt. He felt a sick sense of satisfaction, looking at the destruction. He'd promised to tear everything to the ground. And he would. This was only the beginning.

The old world was dying. It would be prepared for the fire by being torn to the ground.

Brick by brick.

* * *

 **So that was pretty dark, huh?**

 **I wanted to put more in this chapter, but I liked where this ended. More soon, I promise.**

 **Also, let me know what you think of Sam and Maia's relationship. I know they seem pretty serious, but keep in mind they've been dating for two years.**

 **Review, and let me know your thoughts on whatever.**

 **Cheers!**


	4. Classic

**Chapter 4 - Classic**

"I swear, Maia, I won't let anything happen to you," Sam whispered fiercely, holding her tightly.

Maia sniffed, pulling back and wiping her eyes. "God, I'm a train wreck." She looked up, her eyes full of worry. "Sam, I just want you to be sure that you know what you're getting into."

He returned her gaze with a smile, reaching out and entwining her fingers with his. Maia followed his lead, resuming the walk. As they walked, the somber attitude of the earlier conversation faded away, leaving only a contented peace.

"So, where are we going?" Maia asked after a few minutes of silence.

Sam shrugged. "I thought you had a place in mind."

"We could try out that cafe in town. Newly remodeled, mind you."

"Sounds fancy," Sam said jokingly.

"Quite." Maia laughed. "Did you bring any money?"

"Is that your sly way of saying it's my turn to pay?" Sam smirked, nudging her gently.

Maia sucked in a breath. "Ooh, you caught me red-handed."

"It's cause I'm so smart," Sam joked with a smile.

"You just keep telling yourself that, hot stuff," Maia smiled, taking his hand and pulling him in the direction of the cafe.

* * *

The bell rang as Sam pushed the door open, holding it for Maia to walk through. She shot him a smile, walking over to a table near the center of the dining area. Sam followed, smoothly pulling the chair out for her and slid it back under her as she sat.

"Why, thank you, sir," Maia jested with a faux British accent, as she opened her menu.

"You're very welcome." Sam said back in the same manner, taking a seat across from her.

"So, are we playing the game again?" Sam asked.

"Yep," Maia smiled widely. "You do drinks, and I'll do food."

"Alright," Sam agreed. "But be prepared for me to beat you."

Maia shrugged coyly. "I don't know. I'm feeling pretty unpredictable today."

"Oh, are you?"

"You bet I am."

Sam grinned and sat back, taking a look around the newly remodeled diner. He couldn't remember what the theme used to be here; a restaurant from some kind of fast food chain. He had to admit, though, the new owners had done a good job with the place. It looked like a diner straight from the late 1960's, with checkered floors, a shiny counter lined by stools topped with fluffy, red cushions. It definitely lived up to the name: _Classic._

As Sam was glancing around the diner, he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. His heart pounded a little harder, and he was struck by a sudden weariness, as though he was being watched. Sam shot a look behind him, and saw a couple sitting a few booths away, eyes glued to him. They met his eyes solemnly, unabashed.

Sam turned back, his gaze roaming the room around him. He met the narrowed eyes of a man sitting at the counter for a moment before the man looked away, straightening. His hands gripped the coffee he held tightly, as if wanting to crush the new ceramic.

Sam looked down at the table, feeling his face redden. He reached up, touching the cool metal tag resting on his collarbone.

"Sam? What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head, forcing a smile on his face. "Nothing, Maia. It's fine."

She still looked concerned, but let the matter go as their waiter approached. The man smiled brightly at the two of them, wearing a striped blue shirt and neatly pressed black pants. His nametag read _Colton_. By Sam's closest estimation, he couldn't have been older than 20.

"And how are you two this afternoon?" Colton asked brightly, bearing a slight southern lilt. His eyes glanced trivially over Sam, stopping and staying on Maia's face.

"Great, thanks," Maia smiled at the man, and then expectantly turned to Sam, raising her eyebrows.

"Wonderful. Now, what can I get you to drink?" Colton asked, still focused on Maia.

Sam cleared his throat, bringing Colton's attention to him. He looked down at the beverage selections, meeting Maia's eyes for a moment, considering his options. "I'll have a plain Coke, please, and for her…" He trailed off, thinking quickly before making his decision. "A pink lemonade with crushed ice, and a slice of lime if you have it."

Sam looked back up, folding his menu. He held it toward Colton, and slowed when he saw the expression on the man's face. Or rather, lack of one. Gone was the bright smile and open expression. He looked closed off, his mouth tight.

"Yeah, sure," Colton muttered sourly. "Be right back."

Sam frowned as the man stalked off, and he turned to Maia. "What was his problem?"

Maia shrugged. "Guess he was upset I was taken."

"Yeah, and don't you forget it." Sam warned playfully.

Maia made a face at him, scrunching up her nose and sticking out her tongue.

"He didn't even write down our orders." Sam recalled shortly, glancing back at the man, disappearing through the swinging doors leading into the kitchen.

"Well, he better have a good memory, then." Maia retorted, sitting back and crossing her arms. "Cause I want my drink."

"So I got it right?" Sam guessed with a grin, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't be so sure, monsieur." Maia said cryptically. "Only time will tell."

Sam laughed, placing his elbows on the table and shaking his head. He looked over to the side and was surprised to see Colton returning with empty hands. An older man trailed behind him, around John's age and with just as intimidating a build.

Maia spotted the duo approaching at the same time he did. "Maybe they're all out of Coke," She murmured quietly.

Though Sam could see most of the older man's bulkiness was obviously due to years of beer and binge-watching sports games, the way the man's eyes were narrowed suggested that he had an idea of how to use his girth when he needed to.

"Is there a problem?" Maia asked as they approached.

"I'm afraid so, ma'am." The large man stepped in front of Colton, who fell back, arms crossed. He glared at Sam angrily. Sam got the sinking feeling in his stomach that this problem concerned more than a lack of a certain beverage.

The man stared down at Sam with his arms crossed, and he was close enough that Sam could make out his name tag. It stated the name "Chester" followed by the extremely prestigious title of "Manager".

"We're going to have to ask you to leave." Chester ordered.

Sam's jaw tightened, and he fought the urge to look away. If the man was going to kick him out, he was going to do it looking Sam in the eye. "Can I ask why?"

"Because you're causing a disturbance-"

"Cause you're a goddamn public menace, that's why!" Colton spat from behind his manager.

"Seems like your employee is causing more of a disturbance than we are, if you want my opinion." Maia said coldly to the manager. Her tone chilled the immediate vicinity of the room.

"Yeah, well no one asked for your thoughts, you little blood-traiter!" Colton shouted, spitting the words like venom.

"What did you just call her?" Sam demanded, pushing his chair back and shooting to his feet. He's seen the term before, but only on the internet, when people were trying to put down someone who supported psychics.

"I'll call her whatever I want, haffer!" Colton snapped at him, disdain emanating from every pore.

Maia shot to her feet at this. She had remained calm while it was her pride on the line, but her eyes were livid at this insult directed at Sam. "Take it back, you pig!"

Sam's teeth gritted at the term _haffer_ , a demeaning term for psychics, stemming from the fact that they had demon blood coursing through their veins. Half demon, half human.

Chester raised his hands, pushing Colton further away. "Take a walk," He ordered the young man firmly. Colton shot a glare at Sam again before turning around and stalking in the other direction.

Sam turned his attention to Chester, who still fixed Sam in an uneasy stare. "I'm sorry, but you do have to leave."

Maia opened her mouth to rant some more, her fist lifting threateningly, but Sam raised a hand, stopping her. A chill raced down his spine, and the hair on the back of his back was standing straight on end. He felt like a cat with it's fur all puffed out, sensing a threat.

"Let's just go, Maia." Sam snapped, feeling on edge.

Maia dropped her arm, staring at Sam exasperatedly. He knew how badly she wanted him to stand up for himself. How badly she wanted to fight this fight. But he couldn't. Not normally, and certainly not with this fear raking down his spine. He met her eyes, and she must have seen his distinct uneasiness, because she let the matter drop, raising her nose and stepping around the table.

"Don't think we'll be returning any time soon," Maia hissed to the manager, who looked slightly relieved at the news. "Or recommending this rat-hole to anyone!"

"Maia, come on," Sam urged, taking her arm in his hand. His heart was racing, and though he knew that every pair of eyes in the place were on him, there was something unnatural about the feeling, like someone was stabbing ice shards into the base of his neck.

Just as they were reaching the door, the couple that had been eyeing Sam earlier stepped in front of them, blocking their way. Sam halted, looking up at their face, meeting the eyes of the woman. Her smooth brown hair tumbled in curls over her shoulders, covered with a simple pink cardigan. Her entire outfit was something Sam could imagine a schoolteacher wearing. Simple. Practical. Unthreatening.

And yet, as he met her eyes, there was something cold. Calculating. Inhuman.

"Excuse me." He muttered, body stiff and tense.

The woman regarded him coolly for another moment, her gaze sliding up his body. It made him feel wrong, as though she could see straight into his soul. Her eyes lightened suddenly with a smirk on her face, and she stepped aside, arm still entwined with her husband's.

Sam hastily made his exit, grabbing for Maia's wrist and pulling her quickly alongside him. They made it a few blocks away before Maia finally stopped him.

"Sam, stop." She halted, pulling her wrist from his grasp. "What's gotten into you?"

Sam took a deep breath, the alarm finally fading. "I don't know… Something was wrong at the diner… Something off…"

"Hell yes, something was off," Maia retorted. "They just kicked you out for being a psychic, Sam! That's discrimination! It's- It's-" She struggled to find another word to express her rage.

"It's legal, Maia." Sam sighed. "Shop owners can ask any patrons suspected of demonic activity or association to vacate the premises. Psychicism falls under that category."

"It's horsecrap, is what it is," Maia spat.

Sam felt a smile jump to his face, and he laughed tiredly. "I know. I'm with you on that."

There was a pause, and Maia looked back to where they had come from, her face unreadable. "You really think that doing giving speeches for that woman will help make things like this better?" Maia asked.

Sam nodded. "I do. I know it's dangerous. I know it's probably stupid. But we can't hide anymore. People have to know what it's really like to be a psychic. They have to know that we're human, and they're treating us like we aren't."

Maia reached over, taking his hand and curling her fingers around his. "Then I'm with you. All the way."

* * *

A cool north wind blew through the trees surrounding Jake, rattling the branches. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes, relishing the feel of the breeze on his skin. He raised a hand, indicating a few minutes rest while he collected his thoughts. He had an idea of where they were headed, but he was starting to suspect that he would need some help to find the direct location.

The large group following behind him halted at his order, some children collapsing to the ground in exhaustion, too weary to continue. Finny approached Jake at a slow gait, leaning heavily on a walking stick for support.

"Hey, boss, where are we going?" He asked, even his confident voice shaken by fatigue. "Is there even a destination, or are we just gonna keep walking 'till we drop?"

"If we have to," Jake opened his eyes and looking down at the younger boy. "We have to find somewhere safe to hole up. Get prepared and organized."

"Where, though?"

"I have an idea," Jake said, peering out into the thick foliage. "We just have to find it."

Finny stifled a sigh. "Is there anything that any of us can do to help? Make this go faster?"

"Stop whining, maybe," Jake snapped. Finny fell silent, and Jake looked out again, his thoughts whirring in consideration. "Actually, I want you to ask around, see if there isn't someone in the group who has gifts associated with metals."

"Metals?" Finny repeated in perplexion.

"Yes, Finny," Jake said exasperatedly. "Just go check."

"Sure thing, boss." Finny said dubiously, heading back toward the group. He came back a moment later with a boy near to Jake's age, standing an inch or two taller than him. He had dark, almond-shaped eyes, and short hair that brushed his forehead. Clinging close to his side was the small girl that Jake had talked to yesterday. Penny.

"This is Kai." Finny introduced. "I think he's just who you're looking for."

"How can I help?" Kai asked, his expression revealing nothing.

"That depends," Jake responded, mimicking his reserved tone. "What exactly can you do?"

"Magnetism," Kai informed him. "I can manipulate and sense most metals."

"Sense them? As in you could find a large pocket of metal somewhere?"

"Depends," Kai shrugged his shoulders. Penny, still tucked against his side, shied backwards, and he wrapped a comforting arm back around her small form.

"On what?"

"How far away it is, how big the amount, the weather patterns that day," Kai said, adding the last variable dryly. "A lot of things can be a factor. And I haven't had very much practice."

"Well, today's your lucky day," Jake said. "Close your eyes."

Kai regarded him for a moment, something like wariness in his eyes, before he complied.

"Can you sense anything?"

Kai was silent, eyes clenched tight in concentration. "There's some kind of huge deposit of metals to the east. A ton of it, above ground, as far as I can tell."

"How far away?"

"Not sure," Kai admitted, opening his eyes. "But it's directly east, that direction." He pointed toward a slight opening in the trees. Jake smiled and nodded.

"Why don't you lead on? Take us there." He turned back to the rest of the children, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Move out!"

There was some grumbling and groaning as kids peeled themselves off the ground, but within a few minutes they were up and moving again. With Kai leading, they made their way through the dense trees, ducking under and over branches in their way.

Jake fell a few feet back, watching Kai push through, Penny staying close by Kai's side. Kai lifted a branch, and Penny ducked under, with Kai deftly following behind her. There was something very paternal and brotherly about the way that Kai watched over Penny. They couldn't have been siblings, at least not by blood, because they looked nothing alike. Still, they seemed like family.

Jade came up on Jake's left, having taken off her jean jacket, now tied around her waist. Her cornrowed braids came down over her muscled shoulders, revealed by a tight black cami.

Jake nodded toward Kai and Penny. "What's the story with those two?"

"Kai showed up a few weeks before she did, almost four months ago."

"Wait, his gifts showed up that late?" Jake asked, slightly astounded. He'd heard of psychics manifesting their powers later in life than usual, but Kai had to be at least sixteen, and almost no psychic's powers appeared later than fourteen. When they did, they were usually weak, almost nonexistent.

"Nah, he'd just been thrown out of his eleventh Care home," Jade supplied with a snarky smile.

"Eleventh?!"

"Yep," Jade smirked. "He was always taken in by miners and the like. You know, people who wanted to use his gift to find precious metals hidden in the ground."

"Because his gift has to do with metals."

Jade nodded. "They wanted him to find gold." Jade said. "They were just using him as a means of easy money."

"So, what? They threw him back when they found enough?"

Jade shrugged. "I guess. Kai's never really talked to me. Never really talked to many of us, for that matter. If you ask me, he's a little too full of himself for somebody that's been thrown out of more Care homes than most of us combined."

Jake walked forward steadily, watching Jade out of the corner of his eye. Her bitter tone was understandable. Most psychics would much rather take their chance with a Care home than be stuck in a Waiting Home. Waiting Homes were stricter, more neglectful, and you just _knew_ that no one was going to care about you there. It was the same at Care homes, but usually there was at least a sense of small freedoms. Not sharing a room with six other kids, for example.

"So he was in and out a lot?" Jake asked.

"All the time. Seemed he could never make a home stick. And for some reason his social worker kept convincing the Committee to give him another chance."

Watching Kai walk in front of them, Jake took note of the slight favor he gave his right leg. The subtle struggle it was to lift his shoulder high enough to clear branches away for Penny. And just under the right edge of his sweatshirt, which had the sleeves cut off up to the shoulders, there was a dark shadow stretching onto his back. Jake suspected that if Kai were to pull the sweatshirt off, there would be dozens of marks just like it all over.

Jade followed his gaze and her disposition softened. "Yeah… He was pretty bad off when he got here last time. Spent three days in the infirmary. He was all kinds of messed up."

"Physically or mentally?"

"Yes," Jade responded shortly. They quieted for a moment, the only sounds around them the crunching of twigs and the low babble of other conversations. "He still doesn't say much, even though he's gotten a lot better. Physically, at least."

"And he took Penny in?"

"Almost instantly. I think he saw that she was an easy target. Young, frightened, vulnerable. I guess he wanted to protect her." Jade fell silent, falling away into her own thoughts.

Jake watched Kai and Penny in front of them. Penny was young. She could still be shaped into a soldier, and a good one at that. With her power showing up at her young age, it suggested a level of power that sent chills up and down his spine. She could be a very valuable asset.

But Kai… Kai could be a problem. He was more of an independent thinker. Much less likely to follow the crowd. That could make him harder to control, and therefore posed a problem to the group dynamic as a whole. His attachment to Penny, though… That was something Jake could work with.

"Hey, we found something!" It was Finny, shouting back from the front of the herd.

Jake pushed forward, realizing that he and Jade had fallen near to the back of the group, and came up next to Kai and Finny. A smile tugged at his lips when he looked about the dilapidated property.

It had obviously once been a pipe yard of some kind, full of different sized metal pipes and containers. There was a large main building, many of the windows now shattered and part of the roof caved in. There was a tall metal fence surrounding the perimeter, with barbed wire lining the top.

"This is perfect," Jake said.

"Perfect?" Kai repeated, his voice heavy with doubt.

"Yes," Jake said firmly. "Can you break open a section of the fence?"

Kai stepped forward, bringing Penny with him, and walked around the edge until he reached the two main gates, secured shut with a thick padlock. Kai wrapped a hand around it, and hefted it a few times, seeming to get a feel for it. Then, with a small nod to himself, he stepped back, raising a hand toward the gate.

A low creak rang throughout the clearing as the gates began to lean outward, pulling toward Kai's hand. His hand shook, straining with effort, and with a loud _BANG,_ the gates burst open, the padlock flying to the side.

Jake stepped forward, through the gates, and nodded. "This is perfect," He said to himself, before turning back and waving everyone else forward.

As the other psychics passed him by on their way inside the yard, a flash of movement nearby caught Jake's eye. He looked toward the thick trees, and narrowed his eyes, slowly heading over to investigate.

He peered over the bush branches, looking for signs. A loud snap sounded further into the trees, and, cautiously now, Jake pushed through the undergrowth. Looking down at the ground, he saw a slight indentation in the earth, an oblong oval that crushed the leaves and dirt beneath it.

As Jake reached out a hand to touch the shape, something roughly gripped his shoulder. Moving on instinct, Jake whirled around, grabbing his attacker by the throat and slamming him into the tree behind them. His attacker gasped and retched, struggling to make out words.

"Let...me...down…" The man spat. "...fool."

Jake scowled at the man, not entirely sold on listening to the order. Jake dropped him unceremoniously, and the man leaned back against the tree, rubbing his throat sourly.

"You know better than to sneak up on me, Pearson," Jake growled.

"Must have slipped my mind," Pearson drawled. "I only came to tell you that I won't be around for very long."

"What? Why? Where are you going?" Jake demanded. "No, forget that, tell me where the hell you've _been._ After the raid you completely disappeared!"

"And for good measure," Pearson said. "You think those children would accept a human in their midst? Not likely. And the feeling is mutual." He added with a curled lip.

"Where are you going?" Jake asked again.

"I have to follow some leads." Pearson answered cryptically. "Regarding the rescue of our master." There was something accusatory in his tone, and Jake bristled.

"What?" He glared at the older man.

"I just don't want you to forget the goal of this entire endeavor. You can enjoy playing rebel with your little friends, but keep the big picture in mind."

Jake lifted his head. "I always do."

A small smile spread across Pearson's face. "I know you do, boy." And without another word, he vanished, only the waving of the branches and his fading footsteps revealing his presence.

With Pearson gone, Jake felt an emptiness that he hadn't for years. Since he'd lost his family. But that was stupid. Pearson wasn't his family. He wasn't even sure the old man liked him that much. Nonetheless, they were comrades, and he felt abandoned somehow, and off kilter. A part of him had hoped that once he got all the psychics together, Pearson would be able to step up and get them organized. Turn them into a real force to be reckoned with.

But Pearson was gone now, and part of Jake knew that he wouldn't be back any time soon. Jake would have to step up. He'd have to take charge.

His heart leaped in his chest. But not in fear. In excitement.

It was time. Finally.

* * *

Sam's heart was pounding in his chest as he walked through the front door, preparing himself for the barrage of yelling he was walking into. He could hear Mary clanking about in the kitchen as he walked onto the mat in the front hall. The door swung shut behind him, and Sam flinched as the noise from the kitchen ceased.

Her silhouette appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, her expression closed off. Her arms were crossed, one hand gripping the towel that she used for drying dishes.

"Hey," Sam said cautiously. "It's kinda cold out."

Mary gave no response; she didn't even blink. Behind her, Dean crossed into Sam's field of vision. He caught Sam's eye, and pointed a finger at him before drawing it slowly over his neck. There was no playful smile on his face, either, and his eyes were wide.

Sam swallowed. It was worse than he'd thought it would be. Preparing himself for the onslaught, he stepped forward, raising his hands helplessly.

"I'm sorry for leaving without telling you...I just had to get out," he said quietly. "I needed to…" He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Mary didn't interrupt, just fixed him in that cold gaze. He was surprised by how much her anger hurt him.

"I have to do this," Sam said after a moment, knowing that this was the true source of her anger, and also knowing full well that she knew what he meant.

"Dammit, Sam!" Mary cried, throwing the towel to the side. Sam jumped, and quickly stifled his reaction. Mary stormed back into the kitchen, bracing herself on the counter.

"I know you don't want me to do this, but I can't just pass up an opportunity to change things!" Sam protested.

"Sam, did you ever consider that it might do more harm than good?" Mary asked, looking up at him. He was shocked to see the bags under her eyes, the strain lined on her face. "That maybe any compassion that is created will be completely overrun by the hatred. All of it directed at _you_."

Sam was stunned. "I- I know it could make people angry, but-"

"Not just angry, Sam!" Mary shouted, whirling back around. "Thousands of people full of pent up rage, and you're giving them a target! You could make things so much worse, Sam-"

"Or I could make things better!" Sam barked over her. He took a breath, regaining his composure. "I know that you're worried I'll get hurt. That _we'll_ get hurt. I get it. I hear you. And honestly, I'm worried about that, too." Sam paused, meeting Mary's eyes. "But nothing's getting better. Not for any psychic. It's all right for me, here, because I have you guys, and honestly, there's nowhere else I'd rather live, no one else I'd rather live with."

He continued. "But there are hundreds of psychics out there that don't have a home like this. That live with abuse and neglect and constant, _constant_ hatred from other people. They end up in places like Waiting Homes, or camps, with no one to care about them. They're told that they're mistakes, abominations, creatures from Hell." Sam spat. "People have to know. And if I have to be the one to tell them, so be it."

The fight seemed to drain out of Mary, and she took a few slow steps forward, pulling Sam into a weak embrace.

"I'm just so scared for you," Mary whispered tightly. "And in light of everything that's happened recently…" Her voice trailed off.

Sam stiffened. Something in her tone suggested that she wasn't talking about the highway incident. "What do you mean?"

Mary's breath caught, and she pulled back, eyes wide. "You weren't here…" She whispered, more to herself than to Sam.

Without another word, Mary grabbed the remote off the counter, and turned on the TV in the corner of the kitchen. It was set to a news station, with a newscaster's voiceover narrating a scene of chaos. Fire rose in huge columns, and emergency services rushed about.

"A psychic Waiting Home was attacked," Mary informed Sam, hand on her throat. "There were ten staff members there when it happened. Seven got away. Three are in the burn unit at the hospital because of 3rd degree burns covering their bodies."

"Who did this?" Sam asked quietly, horrified by the destruction.

As if on cue, the video changed to security footage from the attack. A slightly blurry image showed the outside of the building. It appeared that a single attacker ripped down the fence and charged inside, nearly beating down a wall and freeing every single psychic in the home, a total of twenty seven psychics free and on the run.

The suspect turned his face for a moment, and Sam quickly grabbed for the remote, pausing the TV. He stepped forward, getting closer to see the picture better. The closer he got, the more sure he was.

"It's Jake," Sam murmured in shock.

Mary nodded. "I thought it was."

"What's he doing? And where's Pearson?" The taste of his old social worker's name on his tongue sent chills down his spine.

"No one knows for sure." Mary said. "I already called in to tell the police who it was. They asked a few questions over the phone, but I don't think it really mattered to them."

"Doesn't matter who it is..." Sam muttered wryly. "They'll be dealt with the same way. Hunted down like animals."

"Like criminals, Sam." Mary said firmly. "Do you really think it's wise to put your face out in public, so soon after an attack like this? People will know that you and Jake were…"

"We were in the same situation," Sam interrupted her. "That doesn't make us friends. And I have to take Jenna's offer, now, especially because of this."

Mary sighed, looking resigned. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

 _I haven't the slightest idea._ Sam shook the thought away. "I'm sure."

"Well then," Mary said. "I guess you have a call to make."

* * *

 **Firstly, thank you all for being patient. Things have been crazy, and I can't promise that chapters will be posted regularly. But don't worry, I still plan on finishing this story.**

 **Feel free to leave a review, and let me know what you think. Good or bad. Don't worry, I have thick skin! : )**

 **Cheers!**


	5. Control

**Chapter 5 - Control**

* * *

 _The screaming was everywhere, in all directions. It rang from the fire, a horrible cacophony of pain. The fire all around him reached out, licking at his ankles with small, sharp stabs of pain. The heat made him dizzy; the sound of the screaming made him want to run away._

 _For the first time, the darkness around him began to take shape, walls forming up, a roof closing over his head. The vague shape of couches and tables rose, instantly blackening in the fire. The smoke got caught in the walls, trapping the acrid fumes in the enclosure with him. He threw an arm over his face, trying to keep it out, but the smell, the taste, still found it's way inside._

" _ **It's alright…"**_ _The yellow eyed shadow whispered._ _ **"Just let me in…"**_

 _Slowly, he lowered his arm from his face, and the smoke rushed in, thrusting itself down his throat, into his chest. He gasped from the suddenness of it all, shutting his eyes. When they opened, everything was clear. The fire didn't reach for him, it reared away, obeying the bend of his hand. The heat didn't bother him anymore; actually, he relished the feel of the simmering warmth on his skin._

 _The screaming was still present, just as loud and chaotic, but it didn't scare him like it had before. It grated on his nerves a little bit, but that was minor. He could fix that easily enough._

" _ **You see?"**_ _The shadow told him._ _ **"Together, we are unstoppable."**_

 _He headed into the heart of the fire, searching for the source of the screaming. It was quite annoying, and he wasn't inclined to stay and listen to it when he had a way to make it stop._

 _As he walked down the long hallway, the screaming got closer. There were nameless shapes huddled in the corner, wailing over each other. He lifted his hand, huge shadows of smoke rising behind him at his silent command. The shapes screamed at the sight, and a wave of disgust rolled over him. His hand pushed forward, and the smoke followed, rushing over the shapes like black fog. It wasn't long before the screams stopped._

 _The shapes rose up, the vagueness of their features falling away to reveal more distinct, familiar faces. A tall man, broad shouldered and strong, with stern eyes but a warm smile. A woman with long blonde hair, her face lined with worry and strain. A young man, dark hair ruffled and unkempt, eyes shining with mischief and playfulness._

 _John, Mary, Dean. They stood before him, the same as he always remembered them. Except, when they blinked, their eyes were as black as night and just as empty._

 _He felt no grief or worry._

 _At least the screaming had stopped._

Sam jolted awake, heart pounding wildly, a cry already springing from his lips. He clamped his mouth shut immediately, embarrassed from the noise he had already made. But it was too late to take it back.

Within moments, Dean was at his door, eyes bleary with the gaze of the suddenly woken. Eyes that were a clear, simple blue. A shudder ran through Sam's body.

"Sammy?" Dean said quietly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam said, hating the slight tremor in his voice. "It was just a bad dream, that's all."

Dean watched him for a moment, unsure.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "Sorry I woke you."

Dean shook his head. "Nah, don't worry about it." He looked at the clock on Sam's nightstand. "Dad woulda gotten me up in about twenty minutes anyway."

Sam looked over. It was nearly five in the morning. He rubbed his eyes, groaning slightly. "Why so early…?" He sat up quickly, suddenly wide awake. "Wait, you're leaving today?"

Dean nodded with amusement. "I was gonna say something to you, but it seemed like you had enough going on last night."

Sam huffed. "You could say that again."

Dean hesitated. "You could help me pack, if you want. Or you can go back to sleep. Whatever." He shrugged.

Sam pushed off the covers. "Well, I'm already awake," He said with a grin. "Might as well do something productive."

He followed Dean to his room, rubbing his bleary eyes. Dean's room was a mess, clothes thrown about, food wrappers littering the floor. Sam shifted a pair of jeans off the bed and took a seat.

"So have you packed at all yet?"

"Nope," Dean grinned. "I figured Mom would hover less if I did it at the last minute."

"Yeah, but you know she'll be calling you every day to make sure you remembered everything, right?" Sam said. Mary let her boys take care of themselves, but she was notorious for mother-henning them when she thought they'd forgotten something.

"But really, I'll only be gone for a few weeks. A month at the most." Dean said, shoving some clothes into his suitcase unceremoniously. "How much could I need?"

Sam stomach twisted uncomfortably at his words. "A month is longer than you think."

Dean paused, looking up, and Sam could see by the look in Dean's eye that he'd caught Sam's unease. Dean stood up, grabbing more clothes out of his dresser. "I think it'll fly by. It'll be pretty exciting, hunting a big bad monster all by myself."

"Are you nervous at all?" Sam asked. "You've never done a solo hunt before."

Dean shrugged. "I've done hunts basically by myself before. Dad let me take charge. He was there if I needed help, and to take the thing down, but…" He trailed off, staring down at the suitcase. He shook his head, jolting himself out of his thoughts. "It'll be fine. Besides, Dad already looked into the hunt a little bit. He says it's easy. Might not need all that time anyway." He looked up at the younger boy. "How did the call go last night?"

"Fine," Sam said. "Jenna was really pleased I decided to join."

"You gonna meet up with her?" Dean asked, shoving more random clothes items into the suitcase.

Sam stifled a smile at Dean's lack of organization, and pushed off the bed, kneeling down to help him. He lifted a shirt out of the mess, neatly folding it and setting it on the floor. "Yeah, I will," He said, picking up another shirt and placing it on top of the first. "She wanted to meet first thing this morning, but I told her late this afternoon would work better."

Dean fixed him with a look, pulling out a pair of pants and sloppily tossing it together. "You have something going on this morning?"

Sam nodded. "I want to visit camp."

"Ahh…" Dean fell silent, adding another half-heartedly folded pair of pants to the pile. "You'll have to call me, let me know how the old gang is doing."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to do that," Sam said, no enthusiasm behind the words. The mention of the other seven that had been held captive with him brought back memories, ones that he'd much rather avoid.

"Sam?" Dean looked up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam brushed off the question, and picked up a different shirt. "What's your first lead?"

Dean didn't fall for the obvious change of subject, leaning towards Sam intently. "I know something's bugging you, Sam. Probably the same thing you were having a nightmare about, right?"

Sam swallowed. Dean was too close to being right. "Kind of," he muttered. "It's hard to explain."

"Is this about Azazel?"

Sam flinched, dropping the shirt in his hands as Dean hit the nail on the head. The name was like a stab to the heart, a representation of the cause of all of his problems.

"Sammy…" Dean stood up, rounding the mess on the floor and kneeling next to him. "Tell me what's going on." His voice was quiet, but firm.

Sam closed his eyes. "I've been having nightmares, Dean. About him." Sam swallowed, feeling his voice about to break. "It used to be every once in awhile, but lately it seems like it's been every night."

"That's understandable, Sammy," Dean said gently. "Hell, I'd be more worried if you weren't affected by everything that happened."

"But it isn't just about him, Dean," Sam said brokenly. "It's about him...and me. Him, being a part of me. Making me do things…" He trailed off, biting his lip, tears threatening to spill over. "But the worst part is… Sometimes, in the dreams, I _want_ to do them, Dean." He looked up at Dean helplessly.

Dean looked calm, but his eyes betrayed his concern. "How long, Sam?"

"Since I woke up in the hospital two years ago," Sam whispered. "Every once in awhile, like I said. This is the first time it's gotten really bad."

"Christ, Sammy…" Dean ran a hand over his head. "I don't know what to say. Have you talked to Dad about this?"

Sam shook his head. "I didn't want to tell anyone. I thought if I just stayed quiet, it would go away. He would go away."

 _ **Oh, Sammy. I'd never leave you on your own.**_

Sam stiffened, his breath caught in his throat. The voice was whispery, weak, but definitely present. Too present.

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

Sam forced himself to shake his head. "N-nothing," He managed to get out. "Headache."

Dean stood, everything else cleared from his mind. "You want me to stay with you?"

Sam shook his head. "It's okay. It might just be a normal one. Too soon to tell." He pushed himself to his feet, and made his way to the door, feeling Dean's concerned stare on the back of his neck the whole way.

"Sammy?"

Sam looked back, making eye contact with his brother.

"You call me. Anytime, you hear?" Dean ordered firmly.

Sam smiled without humor. "John says there shouldn't be any distractions on a hunt."

"Yeah, well, you're one distraction I can't live without," Dean said with a wry smile, which quickly faded. "I mean it, Sam. You call me whenever you need me."

Sam nodded at the floor and left.

He spent the rest of the morning trying to focus on the calculus homework Mary had assigned him, but his heart wasn't in it. He stared at a figure on his dresser, across the room, and slowly lifted his hand. He tried with all his might to shift the small figure, even a little, but it refused to budge.

Frustration flashed hot through his body. Why? Why couldn't he control it? Why did it seem like every day it grew more and more uncontrollable? Sam spun back around, forcing himself to stare down at the numbers, irritation grumbling within him.

He'd only been working for a minute before he heard the rattling. He looked up to see his pencil case shaking, vibrating violently. Sam cocked his head, confused, and suddenly the object jerked to the side, crashing into the floor, spinning a few times before coming to a stop.

He stared at the settling object, his hand clenched into a tight fist. A few years ago, he hadn't been able to do anything with his telekinesis. It was a dormant thing, never there when he needed it. He'd often cursed whatever had given his powers, wondering why it would even bother giving him telekinesis if he couldn't use it.

Well, now he could use it, alright. He just couldn't control it.

He hadn't had any visions for a while, which was normal. He didn't have a psychic vision about everything, everywhere. So he couldn't be sure if anything was changing about his visions. The last time he'd had one, though, he could have sworn that it was less painful somehow. The images were clearer. Stronger. Like a TV on HD or a radio getting a better signal.

So his powers were changing. For better or worse, he couldn't tell. And he really didn't want to tell anyone, for fear of being locked away, experimented on.

His headache spiked, and Sam winced, knocked out of his reverie. He focused back on his work, determined not to be distracted this time.

* * *

The Winchester's second car idled on the street, Dean hanging out the window. He planted a kiss on Mary's cheek, and she stepped back, barely holding back tears. John nodded solemnly at his son, with a hand on Mary's shoulder. Dean returned the nod with a cocky smile.

Sam stepped forward. "Please be careful," He said in a quiet voice. He met Dean's eyes. "And good luck."

"I won't need it, brother." Dean smirked. "I got skill to back me up."

"Still," Sam allowed a half-smile to pass over his face. "Just don't do anything too boneheaded, okay?"

"I'll do my best." Dean said dryly. "Speaking of boneheaded, watch out for my dog, will ya?"

"Bones is a warrior," Sam scoffed. "He doesn't need my help."

"You got that right," Dean laughed.

Sam could sense that the time for goodbyes was nearly over, and he spoke quickly. "Too bad John won't let you take the Impala."

"Yeah," Dean agreed mournfully. "This'll just have to do." He paused. "Sammy, you should talk to Mom and Dad. They'll know what to do. And it won't involve calling the authorities, believe me."

Sam met his eyes uncertainly. He looked away before Dean could read the look in his eye. "You're right. I will." The lie felt bitter on his tongue.

Dean was looking at Sam doubtfully, but he seemed to sense that there was nothing more he could say. "Alright, then. Take care of yourself till I get back, Sammy."

Sam stepped back, waving, and Dean drove off, the car engine growling as Dean zoomed down the road.

He looked back at John and Mary, and saw Mary with a hand over her heart, taking a tense breath.

"He'll be fine," John murmured quietly. "He's ready." He turned to Sam. "Now, did you want a ride somewhere?"

* * *

Sam stared out the window as they drove down the long dirt lane that led to camp. Tall pines towered over the road, and sunlight broke through a few lone bare spots in the foliage. He spotted the wooden sign that stretched over the road, base covered with painted handprints of varying sizes. Bright letters across the top spelled out the name cheerfully: _Camp Freewing._

A few more minutes, and the treeline broke out into a wide field, spotted with cabins and gardens. John parked the Impala in the gravel driveway, and stepped out, with Sam following suit. They started walking up the dirt path towards the largest cabin, with an old rocking chair sitting out front.

A man sat in the chair, wearing a long trenchcoat and unbuttoned suit. He watched the two approach with clear, knowing blue eyes. Walking up to the angel was like approaching a swirling thunderstorm, knowing there was immense power there to be feared if you were the target of it's wrath. He'd met Castiel first years, ago, when they brought the other psychics to Camp Freewing. Then, he'd felt a sense of peace as he approached Castiel. This time, however, Sam felt none of the calm that he had last time he'd met Castiel. He felt awe and fear, but no calm. His gut twisted, seeming to pull away from the angel.

"John Winchester." Castiel greeted the older man, standing up and nodding respectfully. "Sam Winchester." His voice was more steely, less forgiving when he said Sam's name, and he held Sam's eyes in his iron gaze, which held the look of a man who knew much, much more than others might suspect.

"I'd like to visit-." Sam asked, trying to conceal the tremble in his voice.

"I know why you're here," Castiel interrupted softly, but sharply. "They'll meet you in a minute."

Sam ducked his head and nodded, taking a few steps back. Castiel waited for a moment more, his gaze burning a hole in Sam's shirt. Sam looked back up at the angel, and his expression was conflicted. Castiel opened his mouth to say something, and the door crashed open, with children tumbling in. Castiel straightened, and turned, taking his leave in the chaos.

The first to crash into Sam was Toby, who caught him in a tight hug. "Sam! It's so good to see you!"

"You, too, Toby," Sam laughed, returning the embrace. "How've you been?"

"We've been good." Toby grinned and took a step back. "You?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Same old, I guess." He took a good look at his friend for the first time in a while. Toby had grown a lot in the past two years. He'd lost some of his baby-roundness that he'd had at thirteen, and his carrot-orange hair had lengthened to past his ears, still in curly corkscrews. Freckles sprayed across his face.

"Sam!" Mariana pushed Toby out of the way, Nico following close behind, their fingers tightly entwined. She released Nico for a moment to pull Sam into a hug. Nico offered a rare smile and offered his hand to shake when Mariana pulled away, the equivalent of a jubilant reunion for him.

"Hey, Sam," Lily's familiar voice, twisted with irony and sarcasm, greeted him as she stepped through the door. "Long time no see."

"Lily," Sam smiled, stepping forward. Lily stepped aside, dodging his hug and offering a tense smile in response. She quickly walked around him, and Sam stared after her, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

Toby ushered everyone into an adjacent room, with a circle of chairs and beanbags centered around a rug in the middle of the floor. As Sam took a seat on one of the couches, he mentally checked off who was there. Lily, Mariana, Toby, and Nico. Andrew and Ansem had snuck in behind everyone else, offering unsure greetings.

Minutes passed by quickly. Toby kept the conversation lively, and everyone had something to tell Sam about the past two years. Lily kept quiet, only offering snippets of information here and there.

"We heard about what happened on the highway, Sam." Mariana said, her quiet voice breaking through the jubilant tone of the discussion. "I can't believe that happened."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"I can't believe that they arrested you. After what you did to talk down that crazy kid."

Sam laughed bitterly. "Can't you? I broke the law. The law forbidding the use of psychic powers."

"Still," Toby broke in. "Seems like a stretch, don't you think? It wasn't even like you hurt anyone. They didn't exactly have evidence that you were dangerous or needed arresting."

"They don't need evidence when psychics are involved." Sam sighed. "And as far as they were concerned, I _was_ dangerous. I used my powers. That's reason enough for them."

The group fell silent, contemplating his words. Sam looked up, shifting. "What about here? How're you guys treated?"

"Fine." Ansem spoke up for the first time. "The only adult we ever really see is Castiel. And older campers."

"Really? How old?"

"All ages." Ansem said.. "Eighteen, twenty, twenty-five. A lot of them don't have anywhere to go after they get old enough to leave, so they just...stay."

"Couldn't they sign up for one of those 'Independent Living' programs or something?" Sam asked in perplexion. "Why stick around?"

Ansem laughed. "Because those programs are a joke. There's nothing 'independent' about it. Sure, you have a house to yourself, but you're required to meet with a probation officer twice a week. Therapy sessions three times a week. A mandatory, assigned work position that usually sucks."

"If these programs suck so much, why does it seem like that's the only thing that psychics do once they get old enough?" Sam asked. "There's no other option?"

"Sure, there's another option," Ansem fired back. "Death."

"Ansem!" Mariana gasped.

"What?" Ansem barked. "We all know what happens. Almost no one makes it to eighteen in Camps. The people in charge always find a reason for them to be 'eliminated'. And out in the real world, psychic murders happen all the time. People don't even need a reason anymore." He shot to his feet, glaring at the group. "We're a dying breed, being hunted to extinction. And no one seems to want to do a _damn_ thing about it." With that, he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

"I see he hasn't changed much," Sam said dryly, watching him go.

"He has, really," Andrew said. "It's just, he gets so _angry_. He doesn't believe in what Pearson and Neville did, or how they did it, but I think he's just tired of no one else doing anything to make it better." He stood up, looking at everyone regretfully. "I should go find him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." Andrew quickly walked out of the room, shutting the door much more quietly than his brother before him.

"Can't say I blame him." Lily sighed. "Honestly, sometimes all of this just makes me want to scream."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Have any of you ever heard of the Psychic Liberty Foundation?" He asked. Heads shook around their small gathering.

"This woman, Jenna Forrester, she came to my house. Said she was from the Psychic Liberty Foundation and wanted me to join them. Be a...spokesperson, for their cause." Sam said, quietly, staring at his hands. He looked up when the silence became uncomfortable. His friends looked at him with identical expressions; wide eyes, slack jaws.

"For real?" Toby was the first to come out of the stupor, jumping up. "Dude, that's awesome!"

"She wanted you to be a spokesperson? What would that even mean? What do they want you to do?" Mariana asked, words tumbling out a mile a minute.

"I don't really know," Sam admitted. "Speeches, I guess. I just wanted to do _something_ , you know?"

"Speeches? You?" Lily laughed incredulously. "I can't believe you actually signed up for this!"

"Well, I did," Sam snapped irritably. "Can we please just let it go? This isn't what I came here to talk about."

Lily crossed her arms, sitting back in her chair, narrowing her eyes contemptuously at Sam. "Well, then, superstar, what did you come here for?"

He sighed, looking away. "My powers are changing." He admitted softly.

The room went silent. Everyone knew how dangerous that admission can be. A psychic's powers changing invited questions, questions that couldn't be answered quickly. Questions that people in high up places demanded answers for. Questions that meant people disappeared for weeks or months.

"They're changing?" Nico repeated.

Mariana clasped her hands over her mouth. "When did it start?" She asked, her voice hollow with horror.

"So, I'm assuming that it isn't happening to any of you, then?" Sam asked miserably. Mariana shook her head sadly.

"Who have you told?" Toby whispered, as if the authorities could hear them through the walls.

"Just you guys. And Dean."

"How are they changing?" Mariana asked.

"My telekinesis is becoming uncontrollable. It happens when I don't want it to, without me even trying to set it off." Sam explained.

"Sounds like you're finally figuring out how to spread your wings, superstar," Lily sniped. "I don't see what's so bad about that."

"What's bad about it is that I can't control it," he explained. "It happens at random times, anytime I get upset, and it won't be too long before it happens around people in public."

"What are you gonna do?" Toby asked in concern.

"I don't know yet," Sam sighed. "But I'll figure it out."

The group chatted for a few minutes more, but all things necessary had been said. It wasn't long before they were standing, migrating towards the door, and hugging Sam goodbye. Sam hugged Mariana and Toby, accepted a firm handshake from Nico, and caught Lily's arm as she attempted to slink out the door without saying goodbye.

"Can we talk for a minute?" he murmured.

Reluctantly, Lily stepped back inside the door, avoiding his eye. Sam closed the door to give them some privacy, and then he turned back to confront her.

"What is your problem? You've been acting like I'm a murderer or something." Sam said.

Lily's head shot up, fire in her eyes. "What is my problem, Sam? You want to know my problem? How about the fact that I haven't seen you in two years? How about the fact that you never called, never responded to the letters that we sent you, never came back to visit? And when you finally do come back, it's only because _you_ need something, not because you actually want to see us!"

Sam took a step back, shocked by the force of her anger. "Lily, I-"

"What, Sam? What's your excuse? Was the life of a freakin' superstar too stressful for you to come back and see us? Did you get too busy? Or were you just happy that you got to move on, and get away from the people that reminded you of the crap that went down two years ago?"

"You think it was easy for me?" Sam fired back, recovering from his shock and finding anger in it's place. "I had reporters dogging me day and night. The D.P.A. was all over my ass, and I wasn't even allowed to leave my house for weeks."

"At least you have a house!" Lily griped. "You know what I have, Sam? A bed. A stupid corner of a cabin that I share with eleven other girls. I hardly ever get time to myself, and when I do, it's spent huddling in the bathrooms, because that's the only corner of this place that's not crammed with people!"

"You're not mad about that," Sam huffed. "You're just looking to yell at me for something and complain about anything. I'm sorry that I wasn't here all the time. I wanted to see you guys. I just couldn't, okay? Do you honestly think so little of me that you assume I didn't even try?"

Lily stared at him coldly. "I think you could've tried a little harder." She spun away, slamming the door on her way out, leaving Sam trembling with anger.

He turned away, pent up anger burning hot in his chest. His hands clenched in tight fists by his sides, and it was all he could do not to fling them out to the sides and send the walls tumbling down. He wanted to see the destruction, wanted to feel the release of power that would remind him that he was still in control.

 _ **Of course you're in control, Sammy. Feel the power coursing through your veins? It's there, for you to use. Smash the walls. Burn it down. Whatever your heart desires…**_

"No!" Sam shouted, pressing his hands against his head. "You can't be here!" He backed up until he felt a wall press against his back, and then slid down until the ground came up to meet him. Pressure built up behind his eyes, fear and panic and anger mixing together into one giant swirling black hole of chaos.

Azazel's low laugh echoed through his head.

 _ **Beautiful, really. You are even stronger than before. My presence has helped you greatly, I see.**_

"No!" Sam yelled again, but it was more of a sob. His hands gripped his hair, and he clung to the sane reality of the pain. It couldn't be real. He couldn't be there.

 _ **Oh, I'm here, Sammy. I'm here to stay.**_

There was a rattling on the walls as picture frames shook with the force of Sam's emotions. He heard cracking and shattering as they fell off of their mounts on the wall and tumbled to the floor. The very walls seemed to be shaking with his anger, and he didn't know how to stop. His fear lead to anger and more energy, which in turn only fed into his fear and made it stronger. It was a never ending cycle, and Sam didn't know how to escape.

He felt hands on his shoulders, and he looked up to see clear, piercing blue eyes inches from his own. The stark, pure gaze of the angel struck straight through him, stabbing a cold spear deep into his chest. A shadow hidden inside howled, withdrawing further away to avoid the pain. The rattling ceased, the walls settling in their place.

Still, Castiel held Sam's gaze. Sam pulled in a deep breath, feeling as if he had been choking and had only now come up for air. Gradually, his heart slowed, and the full weight of everything he had just done hit him.

Castiel stood, offering Sam no hand to help him up. "I think we need to talk."

* * *

Sam took a seat on the couch in the very room he'd just talked with his friends in, with the distinct feeling of being sent to the principle's office for setting of stink bombs in the bathrooms. Except, in this instance, the principle happened to be an all-powerful angel of heaven, and the bomb he'd almost set off nearly brought down the building.

Castiel took a seat across from him, resting his elbows on his knees and entwining his fingers together. He settled a patient gaze on Sam, as if waiting for him to say the first word. Sam looked away, refusing to be the first one to speak.

"You have a problem, Sam."

Sam winced. The way he said it made it seem like he was a drug addict or something.

"And it won't go away if you continue to ignore it." Castiel continued, unperturbed by Sam's reaction.

"It only got bad recently," Sam explained, feeling the need to defend himself. "And I only started hearing his voice this morning."

A slight raising of the eyebrow was the only indication that the information surprised Castiel. "You hear his voice?"

"Well…only a few times," Sam said weakly.

"Still, this is significant." Castiel decided. "If he is strong enough to speak to you, it means that he could begin to influence your actions."

"Influence my actions? Like, control me?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes, thinking carefully. "Perhaps I would not go so far as to say 'control'. He will not be able to move you against your will. But he will use every trick and manipulation to get you to do what he wishes."

Sam's eyes widened fearfully. "What do I do?" Castiel didn't respond, and Sam stood up. "Castiel, please, tell me what to do. How do I get rid of him?" His heart sped up with fear and anxiety, and Sam felt his entire body hum with energy.

Castiel looked up at Sam, and the sight of his still eyes cooled Sam's aggression and slowed his heart. "Well, to begin, you might try and control your emotions," The angel suggested dryly, with the strongest trace of sarcasm that Sam had ever heard from him before. "You are most vulnerable when you are out of touch with control."

"Stay calm. Got it. What else?"

Castiel regarded Sam with a grim expression. "This is not a regular mortal affliction, Sam. It isn't something that can be cured with the right medicines."

Sam's spirit sunk. "So, what, it won't get better?"

Castiel shook his head. "No. Almost invariably it will only get worse."

"Then what can I do?" Sam asked, realizing that he was pleading with the angel for an answer. "What can I do to stop him?"

Castiel considered his question seriously. The angel regarded Sam carefully before he opened his mouth to speak.

"You could stay here," he offered.

"What?" Sam asked, stunned by the solution.

"My presence will help to keep his influence at bay, and hopefully keep his control from progressing any further."

Sam stared at the angel, open mouthed, unable to form any kind of response. Stay? As in, permanently?

"I- I can't." He managed. "There's too much at stake… There are things I have to do…"

"Your life and sanity are what's at stake, Sam." Castiel stated. "You will not be able to control him. He will gain more and more power until you are unable to keep him subdued."

"I've kept a handle on him this long," Sam said. "I can handle it for a little longer."

Castiel stood, regarding him cooly. "You call _that_ handling it?" He questioned, with a gesture towards the other room, where cracked photographs still lay haphazardly scattered over the floor.

Sam ducked his head, avoiding the angel's stare. "I will handle him."

Castiel sighed. "Very well." Sam stood up, moving towards the door to leave, but as his hand touched the doorknob, Castiel stopped him.

"Sam, do me a favor," The angel said. "Stay in town."

"Why?" Sam asked, one hand still propped on the cool handle.

Castiel's eyes narrowed, and they stared straight through him with a certainty and foreboding that promised nothing good to come. "Because when you lose control, and he takes over, I would like to know where you are so that I can come and stop him."

* * *

Sam left quickly after that unsettling conversation with the angel. John was waiting in the Impala, blissfully unaware of everything that had just transpired no more that fifty feet from where he sat.

John looked up as Sam stepped into the car. "So, how was it? How is everyone?"

"Fine, they're fine." Sam said absentmindedly. He stared out the window as John started the car and began the long drive home.

He could feel John's worried gaze on his face as they drove. Sam remained stubbornly silent, knowing that the only thing that made John more uncomfortable than the thought of something weighing on Sam's mind was the notion of bringing up a conversation about it.

"So...everything, uh… all right?" John attempted. Sam merely nodded, making sure to glance over and offer a small smile, the only one he could manage at the time.

 _Yeah, everything's great. I have voices in my head, friends that hate me, and an angel telling me that I'm essentially doomed. Everything is just fine._

When the Impala rolled into their driveway, Sam was surprised to see a familiar red car sitting on the street outside their house. John parked the Impala in the garage, and stepped out, narrowing his eyes at the car that Sam had noticed.

"I guess Ms Forrester's here early, then?" John presumed, leading the way into their kitchen.

Jenna sat at one end of their table, Mary seated next to her. She had an untouched glass of lemonade sitting in front of her, and a tense smile on her face. She stood up eagerly when Sam entered the room, walking over to shake his hand.

"I'm so glad you're back, Sam," She said. "There are a lot of things that I need to discuss with you."

"We can probably talk in here, right?" Sam verified, looking to Mary. Mary stood up, lifting her nose loftily and walking stubbornly out of the room. John offered an apologetic smile and went after her.

"You know, I could be wrong, but I don't think your mother likes me very much," Jenna whispered, eyes darting over to where Mary just exited, as though she were just around the corner, listening to every word.

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, I don't think you're wrong. She's not really a fan of any part of this idea."

"Oh, I know," Jenna said with wide eyes. "Believe me, she was more than happy to inform me of that."

Sam took a seat at the table. "So…"

"Yes, well, I guess I was just hoping to run some stuff by you, see what you were comfortable with and what you're not comfortable with." Jenna began. "We have a few news stations who are interested in an interview, although it would be scripted and edited afterwards. There are also two different talk shows that would love to have you, and I think both would be excellent for a beginner."

"A beginner?" Sam interjected.

"At public appearances," Jenna clarified. "It's not easy, appearing in front of the masses. It can be pretty intimidating."

Sam felt his stomach twist thinking about it. "Yeah, I'm with you on that."

Jenna offered a sympathetic smile. "Remember Sam, this is whatever you're comfortable with. I don't want to freak you out by pushing too much at you at once."

"What would help the most?" Sam asked. Something about the way she was treating him, like a delicate little flower, was making him want to take action, do something proactive to help.

"Help the most?" Jenna pulled some papers out of a binder at her side. She spread them over the table, peering at each inquisitively. Finally, she picked one up and set it in front of Sam.

"Mindy's Mind," Jenna said, reading the name off the top of the paper. "They're one of the talk shows I mentioned. Pretty easygoing, and they aren't really interested in a whole lot of drastic talk. The purpose would just be to get your face out there, generate some positive views about your character."

"And you think that this would be the most helpful?" Sam clarified.

"I think that this is the best next step, yes." Jenna noticed his hesitation. "Okay, so it's not some anti-D.P.A. rally, but it's something, Sam. We have to start somewhere, and if we just throw you in cold, there will be all kinds of backlash."

Sam glanced over the page, reading but not really comprehending all the legal mumbo-jumbo that was scattered all over the page. "We have to start somewhere."

"Yes, we do," Jenna agreed with a smile. She stood up, gathering her things. "I know this was kind of a short visit, but I'll call you soon with a time. I'm assuming that it'll be rather quick for them to get back to us with a time and a date. They seemed quite eager to have you."

Sam walked her to the door, still harboring some reservations. Jenna opened the door, and was halfway out when Sam blurted.

"Is a talkshow really the best way for people to see me? I don't want them to think that I'm not serious about this, or that what I say doesn't matter."

Jenna smiled at Sam, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's like boiling a frog, Sam," She said.

"What?"

"It's like boiling a frog," She insisted. "If you just throw the frog in boiling water, it'll hop right out. But if you put it in cool water, and slowly increase the temperature one degree at a time, the frog doesn't notice until it's too late."

Sam considered these words, and then he looked up. "So am I the water or the frog?"

Jenna flashed another clever smile his way, and pulled away, walking towards her car. "I'll leave that in your capable hands to figure out."

* * *

Jake stood behind his makeshift desk, scribbling notes on old papers and arranging them in piles on the surface, more for image than for any actual purpose. Right now, these kids needed a leader with a plan. And whether he had one or not, he needed to look like he did.

Jake looked up, and the sunlight glared in his eyes. He raised a hand, and motioned over Finny, who hurried to his side.

"Can you get someone to fix the roof?" Jake asked.

"Someone to fix the roof?" Finny repeated.

"Are you deaf or just stupid?" Jake snapped. "Just go get it done."

"Yeah, sure." Finny scoffed, slinking away to find someone to do the job. It was just one of many that Jake had been assigning over the course of the day. Someone needed to clean up the grounds. Someone needed to clean the windows. Someone needed to arrange the pipes in the yard so they could be used as temporary dormitories. Leaders delegated. So he was delegating.

Among random scribbles and chicken scratch, Jake had written down some legitimate ideas for their next targets. He had a decent group now. Twenty eight, including himself. Not exactly an army, but a formidable force if organized properly. And he planned to organize it properly.

Scanning the immediate vicinity, Jake looked for someone who stood tall. Someone who looked like they could handle themselves in a fight. But most importantly, someone who looked like they knew how to follow orders and were comfortable doing it. His eyes settled on Jade, standing to the side and watching two younger children drag a broom across the dusty floor.

"Jade!" The sound of her name on his tongue echoed throughout the old building, and eyes turned to him as Jade smiled coyly and made her way over to him.

"How can I be of service?" She asked. Her tone was slightly mocking, but Jake decided to pretend that it wasn't.

"I want you to gather everyone over the age of twelve." He said. "Start organizing them into groups, and take each group into the yard in shifts. I want you to start training them."

"Training them in what? Combat?" Jade asked doubtfully.

"If you know it, sure." Jake allowed. "But more importantly is their powers. They probably haven't used them in a while, at least not on purpose, and I want them to get comfortable again using their most powerful weapon. And I need a teacher who isn't afraid of her powers."

"Well, I'm definitely not afraid." Jade tossed her hair over one shoulder, throwing a hand up on her hip.

"I can see that," Jake agreed. "It's in your hands. Just be sure to keep me updated."

Satisfaction gleamed in Jade's eyes as she walked away. She was ambitious. Smart. And she understood how the totem pole worked. She saw the advantage in accepting the place below the major player. It was something that Jake admired very much.

As he looked over what he had already accomplished, anticipation stirred in his gut.

 _Not long now,_ he thought. _Not long at all._

* * *

 **Sorry it's been so long! It really wasn't my intention to take a break this long from it. But I'm back.**

 **As always, leave a review and let me know. Every single response is amazing and helps me stay motivated. I rely on you guys! 3 ; )**

 **Cheers!**


	6. The Devil's Daughter

**Chapter 6 - The Devil's Daughter**

* * *

Penny winced as Kai's partner sent him flying across the grassy field where they were training. He collided roughly with the ground, rolling a few times before slowing enough to stop himself and push up to his feet. She watched anxiously as he trudged back over to stand in front of his partner, a psychic with bright red hair and a lip ring that shone in the early morning light.

Kai took up a defensive position, arms raised, but there wasn't much he could do. The girl, who called herself Sapphire, was fierce, with a strong telekinetic ability that she wasn't afraid to use. And Kai, though he was deft in controlling metal, was loathe to actually use it against another person. Even one who was beating the snot out of him.

Penny frowned angrily as Sapphire pushed him, almost playfully, like a cat toying with the mouse she was planning to eat for dinner. Kai struggled to stay on his feet as her short blasts hit him from both sides. Penny felt her hands start to smolder as she watched him fight.

She turned her gaze to the side, staring at a lone dandelion, dancing blissfully in the slight breeze. She pulled in a deep breath, watching the tiny petals flutter. Her skin cooled, and Penny relaxed, allowing the irritation to smolder inside her.

 _Sapphire,_ She scoffed inwardly. _What a dumb name._

"Riveting, isn't it?" Penny jumped as Jake spoke suddenly, from just behind her.

"I don't like it," Penny admitted quietly, staring at the ground.

"Why not?" Jake rounded, sitting down next to her. He stretched his legs out in front of him, reclining back on his elbows. "It's all fun and games."

Penny watched as Kai was thrown to the ground again, as one psychic lobbed a ball of fire at their partner, as another threw up a cloud of dirt to blind the other. She shook her head. "It doesn't look fun."

"That's cause you're not playing," Jake nudged her. "Why aren't you playing?"

Penny hunched down. "I told Miss Jade I didn't want to."

"It's just… You want to be able to protect yourself, right?" Jake prompted. Penny frowned, nodding her head slowly. "Well, you can only do that if you learn how to use your powers."

"But I don't want to hurt anybody!" Penny insisted. "And my powers hurt people."

"Oh, Penny," Jake sighed and sat up. He looked over at her with a pondering expression. "You haven't seen who we're fighting yet. It's hard for you to understand. But the people that we're up against, they'll use all the power that they have. And they won't care if they hurt people."

Penny looked away, over at the pretty dandelion, dancing between where she and Jake sat. Jake followed her gaze, and his expression soured.

"They're like weeds." He muttered. "The entire human race. They pop up where they're unwanted, and they seem to think that they're entitled to whatever they want, even though they're completely useless."

"Aren't we part of the human race?"

Jake smiled sympathetically at her. "Penny, we are part of a better race. Superior to the humans. They just don't realize it yet. And the other thing they don't realize…" He reached for her hand, and she gasped, heat rushing to her palm. She watched as Jake pressed her hot hand against the flower, which crumpled and smoked under the pressure.

"...Is that like weeds, they can be burned away just as easily." He stood up and walked toward the training session without a backward glance, leaving Penny to stare at the brown, lifeless thing that had been, only moments ago, dancing in the wind without a care in the world.

* * *

Sam sat tense at the dining room table, staring down at the phone in his hands. He heard the sound of a vehicle going down the street, and his head shot up. The red sedan passed, and his shoulders dropped.

Maybe he shouldn't have made the call. It was probably a stupid idea. But it had been two days since he had Jenna had talked. And he was starting to climb the walls. He couldn't be useless anymore. He couldn't watch these reports on the news about the wreckage these "feral" psychics were causing, as the media was beginning to label Jake's group. Feral. As if they were returning to their primitive instincts, rather than just rebelling against a system that refused to hear their voice.

The house was too quiet. Mary was out grocery shopping, would be all day, and John was helping someone a few towns over with a ghoul infestation. Normally Dean would have been up and about, bothering Sam and generally just being a nuisance, but he was away hunting some big bad monster. All by himself.

Sam shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. Nothing bad had happened so far. Dean had called last night to give them an update. He said that at this point, it looked like a werewolf attack, going off of the evidence that he could find, and Sam could tell that John agreed by the proud gleam in his eye. John wouldn't allow himself to tell Dean that he was right, but Sam was sure to whisper quiet assurances into the phone when John left the room.

Bones nudging his knee broke Sam out of his thoughts, and he smiled, rubbing a hand over the short hair on the dog's muzzle. Bones sighed contently, resting his head on Sam's leg. Short gray hairs were starting to show on the dog's muzzle and just above his eyes.

"You're an old man, aren't you?" Sam said, scratching Bones behind the ear. Bones wagged his tail at the words, panting excitedly. Sam stood up, searching for a toy to toss for the dog when his ears caught the low rumble of a car pulling into the driveway.

Sam rushed past Bones, who trotted after him, and froze by the door. It could be Mary, after all. Or John, even, if his job had gone really quickly. It didn't have to be them. And he wasn't sure that he wanted it to be.

Sam pulled in a deep breath to dispel the indecision, and yanked the door open, looking out onto the driveway. His heart skipped a beat as he took in the white van, _Station Seven News_ printed smartly across the side. A tall woman with impeccably curled brown hair stepped out of the passenger side, microphone in hand, waving cheerfully at him.

"Sam!" She called with a toothy smile. "I'm so glad that you consented to an interview. This is going to be fantastic."

Quickly, Sam stepped out onto the porch. He glanced right and left, trying to see if any of the Winchester's neighbors were out and about. Thankfully, he didn't see anyone out mowing their lawn or retrieving the mail.

"So, should we head inside?" The woman asked, already heading up to the house. She blew past him without waiting for a response, pushing the front door open with confidence. Bones barked loudly as she entered, and the reporter gasped in surprise, dancing away from his probing nose and nervously wagging tail.

Sam felt a small stab of satisfaction at her discomfort as he pulled Bones away, shutting him in the spare room near their garage. He could hear Bones pawing at the door and whining as he walked away.

The reporter, who had yet to introduce herself, was gesturing to various points around the room as the cameraman swung the large portable camera around to accommodate her demands. Sam swallowed his apprehension, plastering on a smile as he walked over to them.

The reporter smiled, holding out a hand to shake. "Melanie Delucan," She said, placing her hand in Sam's. He shook it hesitantly, and Melanie quickly pulled away, discreetly wiping her hand on her grey pencil skirt.

"So, shall we?" Melanie showed herself into the family room, taking in the couches and armchair. "This will be simply perfect. Absolutely fantastic. Sam, why don't you take a seat on this side…Over here, dear, closer to the light…" Sam sat down and Melanie took a step back, considering the scene carefully. "Yes, that will do nicely." She took a seat next to him, angling her body toward him and crossing her legs daintily.

"Now, Sam, this interview will be a question and response, all right?" Melanie informed him. "I'll offer a statement or two in the beginning as an introduction, and then I will ask you a question. Just answer honestly, and with as much detail as you like. If you're uncomfortable with any of the questions, just let me know and we'll move on to a different question. Sound good?"

Sam nodded, his mouth suddenly very dry.

Melanie beamed. "Wonderful. Do you have any questions before we begin?"

"This isn't live, right?" Sam verified. "I mean, it can be edited afterwards?"

"No, it's not live," Melanie assured him.

Sam nodded, looking down at his lap and thinking for a moment. "Don't you need parental consent to interview a minor?" he asked, the thought having just occurred to him.

Melanie laughed. "Oh, Sam, the rules aren't nearly as strict with psychics. You'd be surprised how many loopholes there are to jump through if you look hard enough."

Sam took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "Okay," he said, opening them and nodding. "I'm ready."

"Great." Melanie primped her hair with one hand, taking a moment to adjust how the impeccable curls fell over her shoulders, and then pointed to the cameraman. He held up three fingers, dropping them one by one until the small red light blinked on. Melanie waited for another moment, and then opened her mouth to speak.

"Two years ago, the world was faced with a near catastrophe so horrendous that it nearly brought down the entire world. Since that day, so many still have questions about what occurred that day, and how such an event was brought to fruition. Today, I'm meeting with one of the victims of that horrible day, to discuss that event and how it has impacted him to this day." Melanie turned to Sam. "Sam, how are you doing today?"

"I'm good." Sam shrugged, trying to ignore the red light and camera lense in the corner of his eye.

Melanie smiled. "That's wonderful. Sam, today we're meeting in the home of the Winchesters, right? Where you've been living since that day two years ago?"

"Well, I'd been living here before then, but yeah, this is my home."

"It's wonderful to hear you say that, Sam. So this is where it all began, isn't that right? The entire incident with your social worker and the demon almost raised from Hell."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Tell us how you're doing since that day. What's been the hardest part of your recovery, Sam?"

"My recovery?" Sam asked. Melanie nodded. "I guess it would be how it affected people that I know. I mean, they were hurt pretty badly. Not just physically, but mentally...It's taken them a long time to get better."

"Are you referring to the other seven psychics who were kidnapped with you?"

"Yes."

"What kind of difficulties are we talking about, Sam?"

Sam shifted. "What happened that day scarred all of us. To be used, forced into doing something so horrible… To not have a choice, not knowing if you'll even survive… It just messed some of us up."

"Jake Talley… he was one of the psychics that was kidnapped with you, correct?" Melanie asked.

"Yeah, he was…" Sam trailed off, unsure of where she was going with her question.

"Was Jake one that you would say was 'messed up' from his experience?" Melanie asked.

"I think this experience made him braver, I guess. I think he's just stopped being afraid." Sam said. "I don't know if I'd really say that he was messed up…"

"But the experience has changed him. Made him bolder, in a way?" Melanie clarified.

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam agreed, thoughts getting muddled around in his head.

"So, if Jake was emboldened by this horrific event, do you think it has impacted the others in the same way? Awakened some sort of bloodlust within them?"

"What?" Sam shook his head, bewildered. "It's not... _bloodlust_ , Jake's just desperate. It gets tiring after a while, waiting for things to get better while watching them only get worse."

"So you sympathize with Jake's way of thinking?"

"I didn't- I don't really…" Sam stuttered, thrown off course. "I don't agree, I just understand."

"Of course," Melanie simpered. "And the others, how do they feel about Jake's plan? Freedom through violence?"

"I can't speak for them. I just know that we're all getting tired of it. Of not having a voice."

"Sam, there are a lot of people that say that a raising of that magnitude could not have been performed without some degree of consent on your part. Would you say that part of you wanted the demon raised? Wanted to see some destruction? After all, there are some that would point out that the demons are your blood, in some sense of the term."

Sam shook his head, appalled by the accusation. "No! Absolutely not! None of us wanted what happened to us."

"Of course, of course." Melanie appeased him, raising a manicured hand. "And yet, you can see how it must be confusing for some, who see that all of you had these powers at your disposal, and no one used them to stop this catastrophe before it occurred. Is it possible, Sam, that while none of you perhaps orchestrated the event, maybe you enjoyed it?"

Anger rushed through Sam, and he found it difficult to speak through the rage. "None of us wanted it." he repeated through gritted teeth. "We didn't want it, didn't support it, didn't agree with it. Any part of it."

Melanie nodded, though her eyes still shone with doubt and malice. "Then why, Sam? Why didn't you see it coming, with your precognition? Why didn't you and the others use these powers to stop it?"

"I can't control what I see!" Sam said loudly. "I can't control it."

"Oh, yes, control does seem to be hard for most psychics to attain." Melanie agreed oily, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Would you say that that is the reason that this event occurred two years ago? Perhaps the reason that so many are being attacked by the vicious feral psychic group, lead by none other than one of the psychics who was involved in that event? Because psychics cannot control the demonic powers that they possess?" Melanie spoke at rapid fire speed, throwing words and accusations at Sam before he could even process them.

Sam realized in an instant that this interview had quickly turned into an interrogation.

"You need to leave," Sam ordered coldly, standing up. "This is over. Get out."

"So you aren't denying that it's possible that everything that's happening now, going back to two years ago, could be your fault? Yours and the other psychics who can't get control of the dangerous powers that they possess?"

How was she doing it? Twisting every word he was saying, even the words that he wasn't saying, molding them into meaning something that he didn't intend them to. Sam didn't respond, knowing that he was condemning himself with his silence, but also accepting that it would be much worse if he opened his mouth again. He simply stared Melanie in the eye, glaring at her until she stood, gesturing for the cameraman to turn the device off.

Sam showed Melanie to the door, slamming it behind her, watching as she drove away with almost twenty minutes of footage of him stuttering like an idiot and giving her ammunition to use against psychics. Sam paced around the room, seething at his stupidity. How could he have expected anything else? The media, like everyone else, was just looking for a good story. And good stories did not involve sympathy for the enemy. Even if, every once in awhile, maybe the enemy deserved it.

Sam stared at the TV in the living room, knowing that at some point, maybe even that same day, Melanie was going to get that on the air. Thousands of people were going to see it, see him, acting like a complete idiot. Worse, they would hear the words that Melanie was spewing, words that he couldn't find arguments against because of the crafty way she had phrased them and the way she threw them at him.

He'd wanted to do something to help. But it looked like he'd only made everything a whole lot worse.

Sam took off, out of the house, refusing to activate the tracker embedded in his metal chain collar so that the authorities wouldn't assume that a psychic with weak telekinetic abilities and crippling precognitive visions was endangering the lives of innocents by going out on a bike ride. Sam tore out of the driveway on his bike, so filled with frustrated energy that he couldn't move fast enough, couldn't pump his legs hard enough to compete.

Sam rode past the park, past the school, past even the police station, which was a good eight miles from their house. He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, not even looking at the street below him. He jerked around corners, and charged up hills. He just had to move. It didn't matter where he went, so long as there was no chance of him screwing something up there, too.

With his focus centered on the rage and frustration within him, Sam didn't notice the shattered bottle lying precariously in his path until it was too late. His eyes widened, and he tried to jerk the front wheel out of the way, but that only knocked him off balance. He skidded to the ground, rolling a few times before coming to a stop.

Sam groaned, sitting up and hissing at the stabbing pain in his shoulder. He looked over, saw the left sleeve of his t-shirt had been shredded by the fall, the asphalt, and the scattered shards of glass. Small pieces of rock and glass poked through his skin, and Sam groaned in exasperation. Just what he needed at this moment.

Sam looked over at his bike, lying twisted on the ground. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the various aches and pains in his joints as he did so. He walked over to the bike, righting the handlebars and pulling it upright. Then he noticed the jagged piece of bottle piercing the middle of the tire. The rubber was already deflating, and he hadn't even removed the shard yet. Sam growled in frustration, kicking the bike into the grass by the side of the road and collapsing next to it. He put his head in his hands, wiping the frustrated tears that were leaking from his eyes.

He knew that he was wallowing in self-pity, that if Dean were here he would say, "Suck it up, bitch-baby. Grow a pair and get it done." Sam chuckled to himself as he pictured Dean's expression if he had found him here, crying by the side of the road like a freaking damsel in distress. He would be horrified. No, worse than that, he would be ashamed.

Sam took a deep breath, rubbing his face with his hand. Then he pushed himself up, dragging his bike up next to him. He turned around so that he was facing the way he came and began the long, slow trek back to his house.

* * *

Pearson kneeled over the rabbit, which was tied up tightly. Loops of twine fastened its paws together, and another thin rope tethered it to the dingy floorboards under its feet. The rabbit squirmed, trying futilely to free itself, but to no avail. Pearson ignored the struggle as he muttered quietly under his breath, chanting in an ancient language.

Once the oath was completed, Pearson gripped the rabbit firmly in his hands. He pulled a gleaming silver knife out of his coat, and the rabbit squealed, thrashing around with new vigor. Pearson lifted the knife higher, gave it a quick jerk, and the old, abandoned barn that he was residing in was quiet once more.

Pearson laid the now limp rabbit on the ground in the middle of a dark circle inlaid with a five pointed star. He held one hand over the carcass, resuming the soft chanting. While he did so, he lit a match and dropped it onto the soft, snow-white coat of the rabbit, speckled with small drops of red.

" _Veni ad me… Veni ad me…_ " Pearson muttered. "Come to me…"

A fierce wind erupted through the window, throwing dust into the air, but the fire only burned brighter. The flames gave off a thick black smoke that circled to the ceiling of the old barn and rippled with streaks of purple lightning.

" _Why did you summon me here?_ " A layered female voice echoed out from the smoke, filling the room with a powerful sense of danger. " _My host awaits me._ "

"Your host will survive," Pearson said sharply. "I demand answers, Regalia. I need to speak with our master."

The black smoke spiraled down to the floor, touching the floor and then filling in upwards, condensing into the slender form of a woman. Color washed over the apparition, creating the image of a tall woman with thick brown hair that fell over shoulders covered by a simple pink cardigan. She smiled coyly at Pearson. "Do you like this little trick? It's not quite as good as a real host, but cheap imitations will suffice for the moment."

"Regalia-" Pearson began.

Regalia clicked her tongue, shaking her head at the charred remains of the rabbit's sacrifice. "Really, Levi, dear, I thought I meant more to you than some rodent. I was hoping for something a little more...entertaining? Rabbits are so bland. I really was looking forward to some creativity on your part."

"I'll try a little harder next time." Pearson growled dryly.

"See that you do. Even if its coat is quite lovely, there was not nearly enough intricacy in the act for my taste. It was a very crude, basic summoning, if I do say so myself. Quite below your skill level, Levi."

"I go by Jeffrey Pearson now, Regalia." Pearson said.

"Oh, you'll always be my Levi," Regalia purred, winding her way over to him and stroking an insubstantial hand along his jaw. Pearson pulled away, putting more distance between them.

"I need to get in contact with our master." Pearson said firmly. "I know that you can get that for me."

Regalia pouted. "Why is it that you only call me when you need something? I thought we were friends, Levi…"

Pearson closed his eyes for a moment, controlling his temper. "Regalia, please."

"Fine," Regalia smiled. "Tell Daddy hello for me, won't you?"

Her colorful form dissolved into black mist, and Pearson closed his eyes again as the impenetrable cloud of black slammed into him, and he was pushed into a world of darkness.

He sensed his master before he heard him. His presence was like that of a natural king: imposing, dangerous, and fully aware of it. He felt the shadow of his master around him, barely awake in the damaged state that they had left him in two years ago.

 _ **Why have you woken me?**_

His voice was forceful, but nearly insubstantial. After all this time, his master was still weak, still suffering from the rejection of two years ago. Pearson nearly crumpled with guilt at the state he had left his master in. The way he had crippled him with his failure.

"I search for answers, Master," Pearson cried. "I have done what you asked, freeing your army, putting your strongest soldier in charge of them. What must I do now?"

 _ **Jake Talley is not the strongest. My Vessel is the strongest. Sam Winchester must be found.**_

Pearson grimaced. "Why, Master? That boy crippled you with his insubordination. Can another suitable vessel not be found?"

 _ **He is suitable, and he is mine. I will not allow what is mine to be kept from me.**_

"Of course, Master," Pearson agreed. "I will find the boy."

 _ **No. First, you must find another. A powerful psychic, whose powers could raise me once and for all.**_

"Who?" Pearson cried. "Who are they?" He was struck suddenly with a vision of flaming red hair, thorny vines twining their way around a delicate flower, fire and ice fusing together, an explosion of darkness and light that sent everything spiraling into chaos.

 _ **The Devil's Daughter, my servant. Find the Devil's Daughter.**_

* * *

Finally, the Winchester's house came into view as Sam limped slowly up the street toward their house. As he got closer, he could make out three different cars in the driveway. John's Impala sat in it's usual spot in the garage. Mary's old van sat just outside. And Jenna's red car sat parked on the curb. Sam sighed as he walked up, mentally preparing himself for the barrage of questions and lectures he was about to walk into.

Mary didn't even let him get inside before she stormed him.

"Samuel Winchester, where the _hell_ have you been?" She fumed, thrusting through the front door and charging over to him. Sam tried to walk past to put his ruined bike away, but Mary stopped him, staring in horror at his mangled T-shirt and bloody shoulder.

"It's not as bad as it looks, I swear," Sam said tiredly, ducking her hands and shoving his bike into the garage.

"Really? Because it looks pretty bad," Sam heard Jenna's normally mild voice spit from the garage door into the kitchen. She stood with her arms crossed, eyes tight with anger.

"What were you thinking, Sam?! An interview? Without me there?" Jenna questioned in exasperation. "What _exactly_ were you trying to accomplish? Other than destroy any shred of credibility that you might have held?"

"I just wanted to do something," Sam tried to explain as Mary ushered him into the kitchen and into a chair, hovering over him like a very worried, very angry bird.

"Well, you definitely did something, that's for sure," Jenna grumbled. "We'll be lucky to get anyone to even consider talking to you now."

"And leaving the house without activating your tracker?" Mary butted in. "Stupid! Reckless! Not to mention, extremely illegal."

John, who had been silent throughout most of the ordeal, finally cut in. "How about we all calm down for a moment and let him speak for himself?"

Sam looked up gratefully, but ducked his head just as quickly when he saw John's expression. The man might be cool headed, but Sam could see in his pinched eyes and set jaw that he was disappointed.

"I called them this morning." He admitted. "They were willing to do an interview, and I thought it might be a good idea. Or at least, not a bad idea. I don't know. It was stupid and I'm sorry. I just kept seeing these reports on TV about Jake and his group attacking places and hurting people and I couldn't sit back and do nothing."

"Well, to be honest, nothing would have been better," Jenna muttered, with her arms tightly crossed.

Sam kept his head down as Mary dabbed a washcloth over his shoulder. There was nothing more he could say to defend himself.

"What's done is done," John declared finally. "All we can do now is decide where we go from here."

Jenna sighed. "I have a few contacts that I can reach out to. Old friends and such. But I make no promises." With one more disheartened look at Sam, she showed herself out, Bones following after her as if to make sure she found her way out.

The kitchen fell into silence as Mary pulled a few stones from the cuts on his shoulder. Sam looked up at the two of them, begging for forgiveness with his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I know it was stupid, and-"

"Sam, do you honestly think I care about the interview?" Mary asked in exasperation. "I was against this entire idea from the beginning, and I'm not too disappointed that there might be a couple obstacles to slow it down. Yes, I'm upset you did something so reckless without thinking it through, but I'm not upset that you were taking initiative."

Sam frowned. "Then, what?"

"I just wish you would stop taking such risks with your life. Running off like that, without telling anyone where you were going or when you'd be back, and no cell phone to use if you needed help, which you obviously did, was idiotic and dangerous. You were gone for hours, Sam. I came home to find an empty home where my son was supposed to be. I was worried, Sam." She rounded the chair to stand in front of him, cupping her hands on his cheeks. "And I don't like my children to worry me."

Sam felt his eyes fill with tears and his cheeks flush red. His heart stung with an intense happiness as her words echoed in his head. It was almost like an unspoken fact in the household that Sam was a member of the family. Even at his Acceptance ceremony, there had been hugs and tears, but almost no words. There was no need to talk about the fact that he was their son, because it was such a solid fact of life that speaking those words would have been redundant. Still, it was a powerful thing to be affirmed aloud.

"I love you, Mom," Sam choked out, and saw the tears on Mary's cheeks as well.

"Always and forever," Mary responded softly, hugging him tightly and placing a kiss on his forehead.

* * *

The room was as cold as Hell was hot. Or perhaps it was just as cold as Hell. Sometimes Harper mixed the two up. And sometimes she found them interchangeable.

The cramped cell was so dark that Harper could only make out the shadow of her hand as she held it in front of her face. It would be hours before they turned the hallway lights on, signalling the start of the day. If she wanted, she could still scrape together some semblance of rest before being dragged into another day.

But she knew there was no way that she could sleep a wink. Not with the empty bed across the room from her sucking up all the air in the cell like a black hole.

They came and took Robin just after Lights Out that night. It had been almost 467 deep breaths since she was taken. Harper had no idea how many deep breaths made up one whole night, but it had to be close, didn't it? How long were they going to keep her? When was she going to come back?

Harper wanted to break down the door and go find her. And while she was at it, kick the asses of every stuck up person that ran the place. At the very least she felt the burning desire to destroy. Throw a couple of fireballs around, freeze the circuits of the cameras sticking out of the corners of the walls.

But she couldn't. One wrong move and guards would swarm the room, drug her, and she'd wake up in a padded, bright cell, trussed up in a straight jacket. She wouldn't deny it had happened enough times before. And it couldn't happen tonight. She had to be here when they brought Robin back.

She couldn't bring her back, couldn't break her out, so she did the only thing she could. Wait in the cold, cramped, dark cell and hugged her knees, watching the door with aching eyes for any sign of it opening, ears perked for the sound of returning footsteps.

Finally, after another 63 slow breaths, the door buzzed, and the light above the door shown red, washing the twin beds and metal desk in an eerie crimson glow. Harper flew back down, pulling the covers over her and facing the wall. She forced herself to take slow, even breaths, feigning sleep.

The guards would know that she wasn't asleep. No one slept when the guards came. It was dangerous to fake sleep while they were in the room. It ran the risk of them stopping under suspicion of a sneak attack. But she wasn't sure that she could face them without attacking them. And if they saw the rage in her eyes, they were more likely to stop and "subdue" her, taking more precious time away from caring for Robin.

The door opened, and two sets of heavy footsteps entered the room. Robin was being carried. Harper's stomach clenched, and she balled up one fist, straining to control herself until they left.

The two guards must have been tired themselves, because they left without almost a backward glance at her. One guard nudged her half-heartedly with his nightstick, as though hoping she would jump up and liven his night a little bit, but she held herself still.

Once the door had swung shut again and the red light switched off, Harper flew into action. She raced across the room, to where Robin had been unceremoniously dumped on the thin mattress covering her bed frame.

The younger girl was twelve, but in her vulnerable state, she looked as young as nine. Her regular white shorts and tank top had been traded in for a blue hospital gown and socks. Her short hair had been shaved again, and small red marks dotted her scalp where electrodes must have been fastened.

Robin was asleep, but she still twitched, and Harper recognized the aftermath of an electroshock session. She swallowed her rage and gently pulled the girl into her arms, arranging her more carefully on her own bed. Robin whimpered as she was lifted, and her hands gripped Harper's tank top tightly.

"It's okay, little bird," Harper whispered. "I'm here now, you're safe."

"...H-Harper…?" Robin murmured, slowly pulling herself from sleep.

"Just rest, okay?" Harper said. "I'm going to be right back." She crossed back to her bed, and reached under the mattress, pulling out an old towel tucked between it and the bed frame. Sheets and pillows had been fastened to individual beds to try and prevent suicides, but thankfully, towels were not so strenuously watched.

She brought the towel over, draping it over Robin's shoulders as the little girl shivered. Harper pulled up the thin sheet and cotton blanket to try and cover her, making sure that her head was placed securely on the pillow. The blanket was short enough that it didn't quite reach up to Robin's shoulders from where it was fastened to the bottom of the bed, but Harper made sure that it was tucked around her legs and midsection to trap some of the heat within. Then Harper sat next to the young girl and placed her hand on her shoulder.

"...H-Harper….I d-don't wanna g-go back…." Robin whimpered quietly, her eyes shut.

"It's okay, little bird, everything's okay," Harper lied soothingly. "Just relax, okay? You're safe now."

"C-can you m-make it go a-away?" Robin asked quietly, her slight voice almost inaudible.

"Of course I can," Harper said. "Just give me your hand, little bird."

Robin reached one hand up blindly, still too exhausted to open her eyes, and Harper took it gently, resting it on Robin's side. Harper closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and reaching deep inside her for the glow. The feeling of peace and calm that she'd recently discovered could also soothe another's pain.

With her hand gripping Robin's, Harper slowly guided the glow outward, through her arm and into her friend. There was a peace that spread throughout her as she did so, slowly fading as the glow touched Robin's hand. The young girl's breath caught for a moment, before she exhaled deeply and her entire body seemed to relax. Her hand went limp, and Harper set it down on the mattress beside Robin.

As she looked down at the innocent child lying before, the remaining glow that hovered in her heart spoiled with the hard edge of her anger, turning jagged and red. Instead of a soft, golden peace, it was erratic, spiked, and dark crimson, the color of running blood. Not peace and calm, but pain and anger. Harper glared up at the camera in the corner of the room.

 _You can't keep us locked up in here forever._ She thought. _Someday we'll get out. And there will be Hell to pay when we do._

* * *

 **Sorry, I know this has been a long time coming. I hope I'm making up for it a little with longer chapters, but I know I should be a little more consistent with updates. Sorry! : /**

 **Still, let me know what you think. Leave a review, good or bad.**

 **Cheers!**


	7. Monsters

**Chapter 7 - Monsters**

The sun was barely rising over the horizon when Jake woke up. He sat up from the mangy mattress placed in the corner of his "office", as he had begun to call his corner of the warehouse. He'd set up an old table and a couple of chairs, and even hung up some old sheets to offer him some privacy. Everyone else slept in huddles around the warehouse, or in the metal pipes in the yard outside. At first, Jake had felt a little guilty, taking the only mattress, claiming a space as his own. But then again, he had set the entire thing in motion. He was the general of their little army. He had to have something to show for it.

Jake pushed his way past the sheets, and walked a few paces away, where Finny was sleeping with his head in the crook of his arm, resting against a giant crate. Jake shook his shoulder, jostling him from sleep, and then placed a finger to his lips, urging him to be silent. Finny shook the sleep from his eyes, yawning quietly, and then carefully stood up, untangling himself from the pile of kids that slept around him.

Jake and Finny picked their way through the warehouse toward the exit, avoiding the fingers and toes of still sleeping children. As they got outside, Jake began to speak in a hushed voice, eyeing the feet sticking out of pipes throughout the yard.

"I think it's time we up our game." He said. "We've raided a few waiting homes, but it's time that we started making some statements with the attacks."

Finny groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Geez, Boss, this couldn't wait until it wasn't the ass crack of dawn?"

Jake pushed his shoulders, and Finny went stumbling back a few steps, still half asleep. "Wake up, you dimwit. This is more important than sleep. I'm done focusing on little fish. It's time we take out some bigger targets."

"Like what?"

"Lakewood Processing Facility."

Finny's head darted up, now fully awake. The name Lakewood was famous across the country. It was, supposedly, the most advanced research facility for everything to do with psychic discoveries. Processing facilities were designed to catalogue a psychic's powers, record their abilities and limits, and then compare them to other psychic abilities, to try and find any correlation. But throughout the years, they had become much more than that.

Everyone knew shady things happened at processing facilities. It was the place no one talked about, the first place a psychic went once they were discovered. A psychic's stay could last anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of months, and it all depended on the circumstances of their discovery, the level and extent of their abilities, and their overall behavior and cooperation during the processing.

Processing facilities were practically their own sovereign states, with special rights that exempted them from the regular laws that medical and research facilities were usually subject to. And though it wasn't supposed to, everyone knew that experimentation and brutal testing that could only be described as torture occurred regularly. Inspections were rare and superficial, and almost never even took place in the building itself. The problem wasn't only that officials didn't know what was happening. They also didn't _want_ to know, and took the steps they needed to to make sure it stayed unknown.

"But… We can't." Finny said, breaking out of his shocked stupor. "A processing facility…"

"Is well within our abilities." Jake finished for him. "And they need this." He pointed back to the warehouse. "The last few Waiting Homes we raided were a piece of cake. They need a challenge, before they get soft and arrogant."

Finny took the time to consider this. "But why Lakewood, Jake? Isn't that challenge a bit _much_?"

Jake tossed him a cocky grin. "Go big or go home, my friend." The smile slid from his face, and a more somber expression took it's place. "I want the world to see that no place is safe. Not even Lakewood."

Finny smiled wryly. "You're kinda crazy, you know that, right, Boss?"

"I'm the best kind of crazy." Jake tossed back. "Now wake everybody up. I want to tell them the entire plan before we set out."

Finny darted back to the warehouse, banging on pipes as he went. Small heads poked out of the ends of the metal cylinders, bleary eyed and ruffled. Jake started making his way over to the largest pile of pipes, from the top of which he would make his speech. As kids began to walk over to where he was, Jake smiled at the sheer enormity of their group now. After the last two Waiting Homes they had attacked, their numbers had begun to climb over a hundred. Enough that Jake had sent out little groups of five or six to attack semis carrying food on the highway, because foraging wasn't feeding them well enough anymore. He'd also organized a few of the plant and growth oriented psychics to start a garden.

They weren't just a ragtag group of runaways anymore. They were forming into a force to be reckoned with. As the kids gathered around the pile of pipes, Jake spoke in a large voice, full of confidence, boasting about their planned victory over Lakewood. Some kids shot looks to one another, doubt in their eyes, but Jake only shouted louder, thrusting his fist into the air.

One by one, the fire in his voice spread to their eyes, and they followed suit, raucously shouting with Jake as he fired them up for a fight that could actually mean something in the long run.

"Lakewood will burn!" Their voices chorused up, thickening the air with vengeance and hate. "Lakewood will burn!"

" _Lakewood will burn!"_

 **LINE BREAK**

Sam's eyes opened, the last traces of foreign images fading away before his eyes. He was kneeling on the ground, soft dirt pressing into his hands and knees. The coolness of it grounded him, helped him take steadying breaths while the last of the aching slowly faded.

Gradually, he came to register the hand resting on his back, a gentle voice whispering in his ear.

"It's okay, Sam. It's over, right?" Maia's voice was steady and calm, something Sam knew she strived hard for during these episodes. "You're okay. Everything's okay. It's over." Her voice trailed off, hushed words muttered under her breath, and Sam was reminded of the fact that she didn't only say those words for his benefit.

He took another deep breath and sat up slowly, reaching into his pocket for his phone. Maia shifted to his side, crossing her legs beside him and waiting patiently as he typed in a message to his father, explaining the Wendigo attack that was going to happen in less than twelve hours. He offered all the information he'd been able to gather, including the town and exact address of where it would take place. When the lengthy paragraph had been completed, Sam hit send and put his phone down next to him, rubbing his eyes and taking more steadying breaths.

"What was it?" Maia asked quietly, fully aware that if Sam didn't want to tell her, he wouldn't.

"A wendigo." Sam answered in a dry voice. "It's going to catch a thirteen year old girl as she's coming home from a friend's house."

"Might." Maia reminded him softly.

"It's going down in North Dakota, Maia." Sam said. "How easy do you think it'll be for my dad to hop up there before it happens?"

"You've told me before your dad has contacts all over the country. He'll call everybody he can to save this girl." Maia said. "There's a chance she could be saved."

"Not a big one." Sam scoffed. "A hunter would have to be pretty stupid to go charging into a possible wendigo situation on the whim of a psychic in another state."

"It's still a chance, Sam." Maia reminded him seriously. "One she definitely wouldn't have had without you."

They fell silent, and Sam reached over to take Maia's hand. She was the one constant thing in his ever-evolving world. The one person who never doubted him, who never stopped believing in him, even when he found it hard to believe in himself. Especially then.

"It didn't seem… as bad, this time." Maia commented quietly. "Was it different?"

Sam nodded slowly. "It's been different for a while. Clearer, almost. The visions used to cut in and out, like crappy reception on a TV. But lately it's been stronger. It feels like I'm actually there, watching it happen, unable to stop it but feeling everything." He swallowed nervously. "Watching this attack… I felt the cold breeze, heard the crickets and the dogs barking around the neighborhood. I felt gravel under my feet and it was like I was really standing there, in that street, while it was all going down."

Maia's hand gripped his tighter. "It might not be a bad thing, Sam. If it doesn't hurt so much anymore and you can see it clearer, maybe it means that you're getting more control. Maybe this is a step closer to controlling your telekinesis."

Sam automatically shot a look around, to see if there was anybody nearby. They were sitting in the park, right next to the swings, and there was nobody in sight, but Sam still felt on high alert. After the disastrous interview he'd done a few days before, it seemed like everyone's eyes followed him. Judged him. Hated him. Even if there were no eyes around, he felt their stare.

"Maybe."

His phone buzzed beside him, and Sam glanced down to see two messages. One from his father, thanking him for the warning and promising to get in touch with his contacts up north and find someone to help the girl. Another from Jenna.

Sam stood up, Maia right beside him. "Jenna says we have to leave for the interview." His phone buzzed again, and he glanced down at the screen. "Jenna says we were supposed to leave for the interview ten minutes ago and if I don't get there now, we will be late."

Maia laughed. "Well, we wouldn't want you to be late for this interview, would we?"

Sam shrugged. "I mean, I already made a fool of myself on national television. It's not like a could make a worse first impression."

Maia rolled her eyes, tucking her arm through the crook of his elbow. "Yeah, right. Let's just get you home."

As they walked home, Sam let Maia fill most of the conversation, making affirmative noises every few minutes to convince her he was listening. But his thoughts were occupied with the conversation they'd had before, where he hadn't been completely truthful. He'd never outright lied, but he had withheld something that he wasn't sure he should have.

He'd told Maia that the visions were changing, that things were becoming clearer. He'd said that sensations were stronger, all of his senses telling him that he was actually there, watching it happen. But that's where he'd withheld something perhaps vitally important. Because his senses didn't just tell him that he was _watching_ it happen.

Sometime during the vision, while Sam was standing in the street as the girl was being attacked, the image flickered. Only for a moment, and then it was back in full strength. But in that moment, something drastic had shifted. Instead of standing innocently by the side, observing it all silently, he stood tall, staring down at a wide eyed girl with big brown eyes and a pink back pack. He still heard everything with rapid clarity, like the roar of the beast, louder than ever, and still felt just the same, like that exact roar vibrating through his chest.

He almost felt more, in a way. He'd felt the bloodlust of the Wendigo, the raging anger that drove it to lash out at the first thing it saw. He felt the agonizing hunger, indescribable in its intensity. He'd seen the girl grow closer as the Wendigo lunged, felt her screams piercing his sensitive ears, and heard her screams silence as his claws tore across her throat.

At some point, Sam had stopped being the bystander. He'd taken the place of the monster, tearing flesh and ending life. Not only had he felt the physical sensations, but the emotions were his to claim as well. Victory at a hunt gone well. Satisfaction at hunger being satiated. An unending lust for more blood, more death, more gore.

During the vision, Sam had become a monster. And he wasn't sure that changed when the vision ended.

 **LINE BREAK**

Jenna was pacing about the room when Sam finally entered, and she stared at him in exasperation.

"We were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago. Where were you?"

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I had to walk Maia home."

Jenna shook her head, ushering him out to the car. "It's fine, it's fine, let's just hurry up and be on our way."

As they drove, Jenna prepared Sam for the kinds of questions that Mindy could toss his way. "She doesn't run an edgy program, Sam. Keep that in mind. Most of her viewers are middle aged moms who tune in for a couple feel-good stories. This isn't the place to get on a tangent about psychic freedoms or the tyranny of the D.P.A. Just answer her questions respectfully and honestly."

"What does this even accomplish, if I can't talk about anything that matters?" Sam asked hotly, crossing his arms.

Jenna glanced over at him, her eyes soft with understanding. "This does matter, Sam. It will be impossible to get the public on your side if they don't know who you are." 

"But you said only middle-aged moms watched this program. What's it going to matter if they're the only audience I reach?"

"You know how stuff spreads around the internet nowadays, Sam. If you make this appearance count, her audience won't be the only people that see you."

Sam nodded, staring out the window.

"Hey," Jenna reached over, touching Sam's arm gently. "You're going to do fine. Just be who you are, and they'll love you."

"I don't need them to love me," Sam said quietly. "I need them to believe me."

 **LINE BREAK**

Stanley was beginning to feel bored, as he always did around one in the afternoon. His day began at five thirty in the morning, when he woke up and made himself a bagel and coffee. He showered, drove twenty minutes to work, and started his shift at seven o'clock on the dot. He walked rounds through the facility in the mornings, occasionally escorting inmates to and from appointments.

He had a lunch break at eleven thirty for half an hour, and then it was back to work. In the afternoons he was out in front of the facility, sitting in the small, airless cubicle with the window down, scanning ID's and lifting the bar to let cars go through. Aside from a few employees showing up for second shift, or social workers coming to drop off or collect inmates, there were never many people passing through. Which meant Stanley's afternoons were very dull.

He was flipping through an old magazine someone left lying around the space, contemplating the likelihood of finding another job that would be a little more engaging while still having the stellar benefits and health plan that came from working in a place like this. The higher ups had to offer some pretty massive perks as incentive to get people to volunteer for jobs like these. He'd had to think long and hard about accepting this job, and he didn't even have one of the truly high risk occupations.

As he read the same article for the third time, he became aware of another sound, rising above the wheezy rattle of the feeble air conditioner running on its last leg. It was almost like a rustling, like wind rattling trees in mid spring, hushed but unmistakable. Except when Stanley looked up, he saw no waving branches in the trees placed around the parking lot. He shook his head and tried to ignore the sound, figuring it was some other failing mechanic in the cubicle.

But tried as he might, he couldn't ignore the feeling of hair rising on the back of his neck, like someone was standing out there, staring at him, waiting for him to notice their presence. He stared up at the empty parking lot, devoid of any person or object except for scattered cars throughout. Most of the employees parked in a closer parking lot to the back, and very few chose to park close to the facility, so the only cars that were in the parking lot were near the edges.

"There's no one there," Stanley muttered, irritated at his own superstition. He snapped the magazine, forcing himself to read the article on some celebrity breakup, focusing on each sentence like gospel, ignoring the dread weighing down his stomach.

Suddenly, a shape in the corner of his eye caught his attention. When he looked up, Stanley had to do a double take, squinting doubtfully at the person standing in the middle of the parking lot. It appeared to be a young girl, around nine or ten, with brown hair held back with a ratty pink headband. Stanley stared at the young girl, flabbergasted as to how she had ended up in the middle of the parking lot, seeming to appear out of thin air.

The air behind her began to shimmer, and more bodies began to take shape, as if an invisible blanket was slowly being slid off of over them. Their number grew and grew, and Stanley's eyes grew wide when he estimated their group at just shy of a hundred children, all linking hands. All of the sudden, Stanley recognized the sound he'd been hearing. It was the sound of a large group of people trying to converse quietly, shifting feet and soft breaths creating a slight rumbling that was easily noticed if a large crowd was around.

And this was definitely a large crowd. A large crowd of children, perhaps, but it was still a crowd. A mob, more like, Stanley determined, seeing the look in their eyes. Their angry, determined eyes. Stanley shot to his feet, reaching for the telephone on the desk, but just as he picked it up, the lights in the small space died, even the air conditioner stuttering to a stop. The light on the phone went out, and Stanley knew in his gut that it would not work if he picked it up. Stanley reached over and switched the lock on the door, but seeing the curl of a boy's lip standing in the front, he knew it was a futile gesture of defiance.

The boy in front shouted, thrusting his fist into the air, and the floor shook with the force of the response. Pounding feet sprinted across the parking lot, and war cries filled the air. Stanley fell to the floor, covering his head, and fear pooled in his gut. He knew exactly who it was that came to exact revenge. It was the rebel group of psychics, the one he'd been laughing about with his co workers only hours before.

 _Completely harmless._ They'd told each other.

 _Be caught within the week._ They'd said.

He'd never imagined they'd be stupid enough to come to Lakewood. Or strong enough.

As the glass shattered above his head and angry hands yanked him out of the cubicle, it finally occurred to him that they might just be both.

 **LINE BREAK**

Harper sat at the long steel table in the mess hall, slowly forking bland food into her mouth. She had to bend her head down for every bite. Her handcuffs only allowed her to lift the food a few inches or so, and then she had to stoop like a dog for her sustenance. The humility of it all burned inside her like a fire, as it did every time she sat at these tables, looked at these walls.

There were fifty or so other psychics scattered throughout the mess hall at that time. She knew that there were over four hundred in the entire facility, but the authorities kept all of them on odd eating schedules in order to prevent more than a small group from being in the same room at one time. Like any of them had the strength to fight back anymore.

Harper looked up at the large window spanning the hallway in front of her. The hallways were institutional white, purging any hopeful thought from the children that were kept there. Every once in awhile, if you sat where Harper sat now, you could watch orderlies, armed with tranq guns, nightsticks, and tasers, escort children to and from different places in the facility.

Most psychics avoided the seats near the window, for that very reason. They hated to see the children marched around like criminals, like they deserved the title "inmate". But Harper had to see it. She worried that if she didn't stay angry, she would become apathetic. She would become downtrodden, weary, so tired of all the pain and suffering that it was easier to just give up. Seeing the children in handcuffs, dried tear stains trailing down their face, shoulders slumped in despair and resignation, was the only thing that kept her alive in this hellhole. It fueled her rage, helped her remember why she had to stay alive, so that she could take revenge on the entire system someday, for all the misery they'd had to endure.

Two security guards ran past the window, and Harper glared at them as they ran past. Normally she wouldn't take such a risk, considering how trigger happy the officials of Lakewood could be, but since they appeared to be in a rush, Harper guessed they wouldn't have time to deal with her.

She was right, more than she expected. Almost every adult that ever went past the mess hall made a point of studying the psychics inside like butterflies pinned in a display case, with a look of superior amusement. But these guards were in such a rush, they didn't even glance at her in the window, simply sprinting past and shouting into the radios on their shoulders as they went.

Harper sat up straighter, craning her neck to watch where they went. It wasn't as if there was never a security concern at Lakewood. There were often outbursts, usually from newcomers that didn't know how severe the consequences could be. Harper sat back, still frowning in confusion, not entirely convinced in her own reasoning.

Her suspicion was justified when another group of people ran past, this time more security guards, guns out and at the ready. They shouted, gesturing to what looked like people running toward them. Harper stared with wide eyes as a group of frazzled doctors, nurses, aids, floor organizers, and social workers sprinted past, tripping over their own feet in their haste to get away. Harper's eyes were drawn to a woman wobbling on her feet, in so much of a rush that she must have run out of one of her heels and wasn't even pausing to take off the other one.

Harper stood up jerkily, her chair falling down behind her in a crash. The other psychics in the room looked at her, alarmed, as she began to shout at the few guards still standing outside the window.

"What's happening?" Harper shouted.

One guard looked at her and sneered in disgust.

"You can't just leave us in here!" Harper cried. "If we're in danger, you have to let us out!"

The guard simply looked away, and began to talk earnestly to the other guard. Harper wasn't even sure that he could hear her through the glass. Many of the walls and rooms in Lakewood were soundproof, and she had nothing to suggest that the mess hall was any different. But the way that he dismissed her, pretended that she didn't exist or didn't matter, pushed her over an edge that she hadn't been aware was so close.

Harper slammed her hands against the table, and the guard looked up again.

"We don't deserve this!" She screamed. "Any of this! And if you don't let us out and we die, it will be your fault, you hear me?! Now let us out!"

The guard stared at her in outrage, and he slowly lifted the gun to point at her through the window. Harper felt a thrill of fear when she recognized that the gun he held wasn't one of the tranq guns they often wielded when a psychic was out of control. This was a real gun. Real danger. Real death. She didn't know if the windows were bulletproof, but given how they hadn't been soundproof, she found it unlikely. Either way, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of being afraid.

His partner grabbed his arm, yanking it down, and when he yelled, Harper could barely make out what he said. _"Save the bullets for the dangerous ones."_ After shooting her one final glare, the two guards ran off, leaving Harper relieved and yet still furious.

Icy conviction steeled her, and as Harper looked down at the handcuffs chaining her to the table, she realized that this was the moment. The facility was in chaos, guards were confused, and whatever had distracted them, it was giving her the perfect moment she needed to escape.

Harper grabbed the chains of the handcuffs and closed her eyes, focusing on the anger, but not the hot, rash anger that she felt before. She focused on the cold, frozen fury she felt when she thought about revenge and escape. She gripped those emotions with all her might and channeled them into her fingertips, which soon buzzed with cool energy.

When Harper opened her eyes, the metal was glazed with ice, and a high pitched squeaking registered in her ears, like someone crushing an ice cube slowly between their teeth. With a sudden crack, the chains shattered, and Harper was free. She lifted her two hands, still bound individually by bracelets of metal, but Harper didn't care. She was free.

Harper ran for the door, ignoring the cries of the other psychics in the room. She felt for them. She knew that she could free them, but it would take time. Too much time. And there was only one other person that she needed to find.

Harper was at the door, trying to figure out how to break it open, when the lights went out. For a moment, it was pitch black, and then emergency lights lit the edges of the room. Shrill cries ran throughout the mess hall from children terrified and hysterical, but the only thing Harper focused on was the fact that the door was now cracked open. She pried the heavy door open further and squeezed through the gap, seeing how dark the hallway was as well.

Harper closed her eyes for a moment, thinking through where Robin would be in that moment. She knew that Robin usually had class after lunch, but since they'd been taking her for electroshock the past few nights, they could have also taken her for scans and testing in the medical wing.

After a moment of indecision, Harper ran for the back of the facility, where they held the classrooms. As she ran, she heard screams and gunshots and felt real fear build within her. What in the world was happening?

Harper turned the corner and found herself facing a line of guards, all with tactical gear on and guns out. They shouted when they saw her and opened fire, half a dozen bullets all heading her way. In a split second, Harper realized she could not get out of the way in time and was going to die. Her eyes closed, waiting for impact…

...and instead felt a small body crash into her, shoving her to the ground. Harper gasped, eyes flying open to see a scrawny boy with red hair lying on top of her, already beginning to get up, a shimmery wall of air between them and the guards, distorting their image. Right inside the wall hovered six small bullets, just hanging suspended in mid-air.

"How did you…?" She started, but was pulled to her feet by the boy.

"No time right now. We have to get out of here." The boy said, pulling her down the hallway. She looked behind her as she ran to see the bullets crack into the plaster behind where she stood only moments ago. The guards yelled and Harper turned back to the front, sprinting alongside the red-haired boy.

He yanked her into a dark room, shutting the door behind them and pulling her to the back of the room. She quickly realized it was a storage closet, and huddled next to one of the shelves of extra school supplies. The red-haired boy motioned for her to be silent and still, and then crept towards the door again. Harper lunged for him, terrified he would leave her alone and with so many questions, but he glared at her, shooing her back to the shelves and again gesturing for her silence.

The boy quietly opened the door, pulling it in a few inches so that it was cracked open. Then he silently scurried to the back, sinking down next to some buckets. Harper's heart pounded in her throat, and her breath rasped through her lips, deafening in the small closet. The pounding of guard's boots passed by their closet, and Harper felt her heart near stop altogether. She held her breath as they ran by, and even when all was silent, she still didn't allow herself to relax.

The boy held still for a few more moments, and then crept over to the door. He listened cautiously, and carefully eased the door shut, nodding at Harper to signal that it was safe. She let her breath out in a gasp, placing a shaking hand on the floor to steady her.

"They're looking for shut doors that we might be hiding in." The boy explained. "An open door throws them off our trail. Are you okay?"

Harper nodded, collecting herself enough to speak. "Thank you for saving my life." She said sincerely, believing that it definitely needed to be said.

The boy smiled. "No problem. I'm glad I could help."

"What was that you did? Some kind of force field?"

"More or less." The boy shrugged. "It's an energy field that slows things down when they reach it. People, too. If I concentrate hard enough, they can stop completely. But once I stop focusing on it, the field disappears and the objects continue as if it was never there."

Harper shook her head in awe. "Pretty wicked, if you ask me."

"I think so, too." The boy said with a sideways smile. "Finny, by the way."

"Harper," She introduced herself hurriedly. "Look, I'm sorry to run off, but I have to find a friend. I think she's somewhere near the classrooms, and I have to get to her."

Finny shook his head. "She can't be back there. We just finished sweeps in all the back rooms."

"Sweeps?"

"The guys I came here with, we're getting people out of here." Finny explained. "Some of us started near the back and worked our way up here, helping people out of rooms, unlocking handcuffs, and the like."

"Did you see a little girl? Twelve years old? She's really small and has brown hair, but it's all shaved off so I guess you wouldn't be able to tell. She has brown eyes and a birthmark kind of like a wing by her left eye." Harper rattled off, fully aware that she sounded like a complete lunatic and expecting Finny to ditch her for someone a little more stable.

Finny merely considered the description, thinking carefully. "I don't remember anyone like that. But I wasn't the only one there and there were a lot of people. Is there anywhere else she could be?"

"The medical wing." Harper said.

"That's near the front, right?"

Harper nodded.

"Well, I'll take you up there. I have no idea if we've cleared that area yet, but even if we have, she could be outside with the others. I'll help you find her."

Harper felt a rush of relief not to be on her own. Not to have to make all the tough decisions or work through the problems by herself. She never realized how much she depended on Robin, rather than the other way around. Usually she thought of Robin as being dependent on her, to sooth her and guide her and make the pain go away. But now she realized how much she often saw Robin as someone to help her as well.

Harper swallowed thickly, concealing the emotion in her voice. "Thanks."

Finny flashed her a knowing smile and shook his head. "Don't mention it."

The two waited a few more minutes and then headed out, with Finny in the lead Harper whispered directions to the medical wing and Finny stayed alert for any more guards out and about. But it seemed that most of them had fled.

"Where are your people? I thought you said that there were a lot of you." Harper asked, and it came out sharper than she intended.

"They're probably outside with Jake, getting organized." Finny said. "The goal was to get in and out of here as soon as possible. He'll be leading them to a rendezvous spot east of here soon, but I know where it is. I can lead you, your friend, and any other stragglers we find to this spot."

Harper spotted the entrance to the medical wing just up ahead and hurried up, passing Finny and running through the doors. The first thing she spotted when she entered was another boy, maybe fourteen years old, with blond hair, laying on the ground. It took Harper a moment to realize that he was blond because of the blood that coated his forehead, and the divot running through the side of his skull, staining the tile a deep crimson.

Harper stared at the boy for another endless moment before dazedly turning to the rest of the wing. She began to run unsteadily, yelling for Robin loudly, abandoning all pretenses of caution.

"Robin! Robin, where are you!?" She yelled frantically, both hoping to hear her, and deeply praying that she would not hear a response. Praying that she was already safe, out of this hellhole and with others that could help her.

"Harper, wait!" Finny called, but she charged ahead, tears nearly blinding her.

"Robin! Robin! Please, if you're here, answer me! _Robin!_ "

Harper heard a small cough, and then a small voice called out. "Harper?"

Harper spun, and saw a small form huddled in the corner against the shelves. She stopped, relief coursing through her at the thought of seeing those two brown eyes looking up at her. Harper looked over, and saw an abandoned flashlight lying on a cot next to her. She grabbed it, flipping the switch. The light was feeble, but strong enough that she could see the scuffs on the floor. She turned to Robin, a smile on her face.

"Robin, you have no idea how worried I was-"

As the light fell on her young friend, many things registered at once. Robin was lying towards the wall, facing away from her. She stirred slightly, as though trying to rouse herself. And there was a large smear of red glistening on the floor behind her.

"Robin?" Harper dashed to her, kneeling down and gently pulling her onto her back. Robin whimpered in pain and Harper gasped, staring down at the three spots of blood piercing Robin's midsection. One through her shoulder, and two directly in the stomach, the spots of blood growing larger with the jostling.

"No…" Harper whispered. "How did this…?"

"H-Harper?" Robin coughed.

"No, please, god, no!" Harper cried, cradling Robin in her lap. She heard Finny's footsteps halt behind her and his sharp intake of breath. "Not her, not this. Please, no…"

"Harper? It h-hurts…" Robin whimpered, clutching her arm desperately.

"It's okay, Robin, everything's going to be fine." Harper said. "We're going to get you out of here, okay? We'll find somebody to make you better, and then you'll be good as new."

She felt a hand on her shoulder. "Harper, there isn't anyone that can heal. Not that I've met." Finny said softly. "We can try and get her to a hospital, but…" Harper heard his unsaid words clearer than the ones spoken aloud. _But she probably won't make it._

"We have to try," Harper said sharply, her voice choked. She slid a hand under Robin's shoulders, trying to lift her up. Robin cried out and gripped her arm tightly, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. Harper set her down immediately, staring down helplessly.

"I don't think there's anything we can do," Finny said softly, his voice full of remorse.

"H-Harper, it really h-hurts," Robin whispered. "C-can you m-make it go a-away?"

Harper swallowed, looking up at the ceiling. She plastered a shaky smile on her face and looked down at Robin. "Of course, little bird. Just let me take your hand." She reached over and took Robin's blood stand hand in her own. With her other hand she gently ran a hand across Robin's forehead, smoothing the hair away from her face. She closed her eyes and sent the peaceful glow through the connection. Instantly, the tension melted from Robin's body.

"Thank you, Harper." Robin said softly, her eyes shut.

"Anything for you, little bird." Harper said, her voice cracking. A tear fell from her eye and landed on Robin's cheek, right next to the little birthmark of a bird's wing. "It's okay, Robin. You can go to sleep. I'm here, and everything's okay. Just sleep, go to sleep. You don't have to worry about anything anymore, little bird." She whispered to the girl until her hand went slack and her head fell to the side. Harper held Robin close, whispering sweet nothings until Finny leaned down, pressing a hand gently to Robin's neck. He stepped back, placing a hand on Harper's shoulder.

"She's gone, Harper." He said. "Somebody could be here any second. We have to go."

The words cut her like a knife, and they reminded Harper of the cause of this in the first place. She knew exactly what had happened. The guards had gotten spooked by the break in, and charged around firing at anything with a heart beat. Even a twelve year old whose only gift was to create light in her palms.

"They're all monsters," Harper whispered to herself, staring down at the lifeless body of the only person that had ever mattered to her. She lifted a hand and brushed the tears from her cheeks, promising herself that men like that would never give her reason to cry again. Harper gently set Robin on the ground, sliding her hands out from under her head. She stood up, fixing Finny in an icy stare. "Take me to Jake, Finny. Right now."

"And…?" Finny stared at her in concern, wary of what she would say.

She'd felt hot anger before. She'd even felt icy fury. But this steel was different. She wanted a part of whatever this Jake was offering. As long as it meant she could stop other psychics from dying how Robin had, by the hands of selfish, cowardly humans only out to save their own skin, she would do whatever he wanted.

"I swear to god every human on this planet is going to pay."

 **LINE BREAK**

 **After a long and inexcusable hiatus, I am back. At least for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed, even if it is a little long and depressing.**

 **No promises as to the next update, as usual. But keep an eye out. I hope to write it up pretty quick.**

 **Cheers!**


	8. Setback

**Chapter 8 - Setback**

* * *

Sam peered out through the two seats in the front of the car, anxiously eyeing the long line of cars in front of them. Horns blared in every direction as people tried to move in the stationary environment. Right next to him, Jenna snapped angrily into her cell phone. He tried not to eavesdrop, but it was virtually impossible, given that she was exactly two feet from him and nearly having a shouting match with the person on the other end.

"Well, if that's really how you feel, then I guess there isn't anything that I can say to convince you otherwise." Jenna barked. "Oh, yes, you have a stupendous day as well." Jenna hung up the phone and set it down roughly beside her.

"Keller, pull off as soon as you can." She ordered, in a more brisk tone than she usually displayed.

"So do they care that we're going to be late?" Sam asked. "I mean, it's not like we can help that there was a traffic jam."

"It doesn't really matter that there's a traffic jam anymore." Jenna said testily. "Mindy's Mind has rescinded it's invitation for you to appear on their program." She lifted her phone and began tapping frantically at the screen, her irritation apparent through the forceful actions.

"What?"

Jenna sighed, pausing for a moment to glance up at him. "Her manager's exact words were 'In light of the recent events, we feel that a guest of that sort would generate negative attention about our program'."

"What recent events? The interview? I thought they said that they were fine with that."

"It's not about the interview, Sam." Jenna said, her finger sliding up her phone screen as she read something. "It isn't about you at all."

Sam looked down at her screen, noting that it was some news page. It was impossible to make out any words from the angle he was at, but he saw blurry images of a wrecked building, police and ambulance cars flashing their lights, and multiple Psychic Transport vehicles at the scene.

"Jenna, what's going on?"

She didn't answer him, staring down in growing concern at whatever she was reading. Sam leaned over, catching words here and there as he tried to make out what had happened. Catching sight of the word _deaths_ printed starkly against the simple white background, he reached for the phone. Jenna, having finished the article, let him take it.

Sam skimmed the words, but horror made him rush, blurring the sentences together. _Psychics, attack, armed,_ and _death_ swirled in front of his eyes.

"What does it mean?" He asked. "What does this mean, Jenna?!"

"There was an attack at Lakewood, Sam," Jenna said, reaching for her phone back. Sam let her pull it from his hands numbly. "The attackers were armed, in more way than one, and obviously had a plan. Over three hundred psychics are unaccounted for, another sixty in custody. The forty-four others are dead."

Sam felt his chest seize in grief. Forty-four children dead. Snuffed out as quickly as a candle light.

"It was Jake, wasn't it?"

Jenna nodded. "Along with his seventy-plus followers. Although at this point, given how many psychics got out, there's no telling how many are going along with him."

"Or how many more are going to be killed." Sam said stiffly.

"The amount of psychics that died is… tragic, but it isn't exactly what's upsetting people right now." Jenna said cautiously. "There were thirty-six guards on duty at the time. Eleven of them died."

"And that's what people are concerned about right now." Sam said, his lip curling in disgust. "Of course."

Jenna sighed as Keller finally was able to turn onto an exit ramp. She placed a consoling hand on Sam's arm.

"You know it's not what I'm upset about Sam. But that's why Mindy's Mind refuses to have you as a guest. Hosting a psychic, so soon after a tragedy like this… It wouldn't speak well with people."

Sam fell silent, looking out the window as they drove.

"Look for the first exit back, Keller." Jenna called out. "I guess we'll just be taking Sam home."

"What?" Sam exclaimed.

"This was it, Sam." Jenna said wearily. "I'll keep pursuing other options, but after this… It might be a while before we can get you out there."

"That's not what's wrong," Sam said. It seemed wrong to sit back and do nothing when this had just happened. Not to mention that it was the perfect time to get some kind of a message out there. "We should be doing something. All those kids are dead. We can't let people ignore them!"

"What do you suggest we do?"

"I don't know… We could interview their families. Their families from before. Make people see that they were children before they were psychics."

"That kind of message could be very inflammatory, Sam. People see these kids as monsters, not children. Especially after all that's happened. Siding with them, trying to sway the public opinion before they're ready… That could end up being more destructive than everything up until now."

Sam fell silent, and Jenna reached over. "I get what you're saying Sam. It's just that if we speak up now, start prying into what's wrong with the system, people are going to reject it. They aren't in the right mindset to accept it. If we try to force sympathy for who they see as the enemy, it's just going to make them see these kids in an even harsher light."

She sat back, glancing down at her phone again and sighing. "It's just a shame. People think that these sort of psychics, these desperate, radical teenagers, are the only ones out there. They see this, and immediately label all of you the same."

The words sparked an idea in the back of his head, and Sam frowned, thinking as it slowly grew in clarity. "What if we showed them something else? That not all of us are that way?"

Jenna frowned. "How so?"

"We just have to show them a place where psychics don't feel scared or threatened. Show them that no matter what makes them different, they're the same underneath. Still just kids that like to laugh and play and hang out."

"You have a place in mind?"

Sam smiled. "I know just the place."

* * *

Driving through the narrow passage of trees, it was just like he'd seen it all the times before. Tall, towering pines, spots of sunlight catching his eyes. It gave him an eerie sense of déjà vu that was hard to shake.

"You sure I can't call the director of this place before we get there?" Jenna asked anxiously. "I hate showing up unannounced."

"I don't think he has a cell phone." Sam said knowingly. "And trust me, he'll know we're coming."

Jenna shot him a confused look but didn't say any more.

They broke through the treeline, tires slowing as they came to a small gravel parking lot lined by tree trunks to mark parking spaces. Keller parked the car, and Sam stepped out, taking deep breaths of the clean, fresh air.

Throughout the clearing, he could see cabins scattered about around the clear lake, and kids walking on paths between them, wearing green shirts. The dirt path in front of them led up to the main cabin, and standing on the porch, as impassive as ever, was none other than the angel that had granted Sam's friends safe haven.

Sam swallowed, nervously remembering their most recent encounter only weeks ago. He began walking up the path, Jenna and Keller, who held a video camera in his hands, following close behind.

"Castiel," Sam greeted him as he grew closer.

"Sam," Castiel responded, turning his gaze to the two behind him. "Jenna Forrester and James Keller."

Jenna eyed the man uncertainly. "You're the director of this camp?"

"I fill that role, yes." Castiel agreed.

"Well, Mr…"

"Call me Castiel." He said evenly.

Jenna nodded, scrutinizing the man before her. "Of course. Well, Castiel, we were hoping that we could video some of your campers. Nothing without their and your expressed consent, but we'd like to show people psychics in a different setting. We were hoping to showcase psychics in a more positive light, given the recent events."

Castiel appraised her for a moment, and then turned to Sam. "This was your idea." There was no doubt in his voice.

"Yes, it was." Sam admitted. "But it's a good one. We won't say anything about psychic rights or try to stir up any problems. It's just so that people can see that not all of us are like the ones they see on TV. Just to give them a different standard."

Castiel's eyes bored deep into Sam. He seemed uneasy with the idea, or perhaps it was just Sam's return that bothered him. Finally, he looked away, at Jenna and Keller.

"Very well. You may take as much footage as you wish, of any parts of this camp or any child that agrees to be captured in your film." Castiel granted.

"Thank you very much, Castiel." Jenna said graciously, backing away from the porch. Sam followed her, feeling the stare of the angel burning on his neck the whole way.

* * *

Penny peered around the corner of the large warehouse, part of her vision obstructed by the building. She knew that no one could see her, even if they were staring straight at her, but she still felt the urge to keep out of sight. Looking down, she saw the grass beneath her feet, slightly depressed with her weight. When she looked at the wall, where her hand was perched, it was odd not to see her hand there, though she could feel the cool metal under her fingertips.

She'd only had the second power for a six months, and was still getting used to it. It was disorienting, not being able to see her hand grabbing for things. And she really hadn't needed it. It was easy enough to sneak around without being invisible. She was tiny for being almost eleven. She looked vulnerable. People wrote her off the moment they saw her.

And if she ever had needed to steal something, Kai had gotten it for her. Though she'd only known him for a matter of months, she'd quickly grown attached to him. He was kind. He told her stories while she was falling asleep. He taught her how to multiply with a stick in the dirt and held her when she cried. He was the older brother she'd never had and the father that had given her up out of fear.

But now she needed her powers. Because Kai wanted to know what Jake was planning. He hadn't sent her to find out, but she wanted to do this for him. He might get her food, but she could get him information.

Penny drew in a steadying breath and skirted around the warehouse, sticking close to the side of the building so that any indentations in the grass might not be noticed. She waited outside the warehouse door until someone walked out, letting the door slowly swing shut behind him. Penny quickly ducked in, quieting her breaths.

There were almost thirty psychics inside the warehouse, the majority of them being the ones injured in the latest attack. A few psychics with helpful powers or skills walked from blanket to blanket, offering what help they could. Two psychics had already died from blood loss from gunshot wounds. But Penny had pretended that she hadn't heard it when someone told Kai.

Penny crept through the warehouse, toward the back. She heard the slight murmur of Jake's voice as she neared, and she leaned close to the curtain to hear.

"...glad that you're so enthusiastic about our cause." Jake said to someone. "We're always in need of fresh soldiers. Especially ones with such a… varied skill-set as you. What is it you can do, again?"

"I control fire and ice, can create light or take it away, and can cause people to feel pain or a lack of it." A girl spoke with a steely voice.

"Amazing," Jake commented. "It's so rare that a psychic comes along with two powers, let alone your six. It's practically unheard of."

The girl was silent for a moment. "Yeah, so I've heard. I've also heard that you have some powerful psychics here as well."

Jake sounded smug with his response. "Well, of course. And they're all getting stronger every day. We have a couple different psychics with duel powers, including a boy with speed and strength and a young girl with invisibility and a burning touch."

Penny jerked when she realized that he was talking about her. She shifted her feet, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that no one was watching her. Which was pointless. No one could see her at all.

"Anyway, we'd be glad to have you with us." Jake said. "Especially with what I've got planned for tonight."

"Sounds interesting." The girl replied. "What exactly is it?"

"We've gained an army. We've made a statement. But now it's time to make good on that statement. Start taking down targets."

"You have something in mind?"

Jake grinned. "You've heard of Senator Riggert, haven't you?"

A chill raced down Penny's spine. When she'd been very young, before her powers had manifested, she'd thought politics were boring. Her father had followed the debates religiously, but Penny herself had found them extremely dull. The only thing the suits did was argue and interrupt each other. Sometimes, when her father was holding the sole TV in their house hostage, she'd make a game of counting how many times one suit would talk through the sentence of another. She always lost count around thirty.

But then she'd set the curtains on fire. Left smoldering handprints on the cabinet doors. Burnt a piece of toast without ever putting it in the toaster. And the suits were the ones that designated her psychic. The ones that dragged her from her family. Shoved her in a dark hole and threw away the key. The suits were the dangerous ones, because one could never predict their actions. They moved like robots, seeing a problem and eliminating it, with no thought of mercy or human decency.

And the most feared suit among all psychics was Senator Riggert. He was the biggest advocate of psychic oppression, the man behind every funding for a new Waiting Home or Work Camp. He supported every bill for psychic control and was always the loudest critic of any measure to loosen the stranglehold.

"Of course I've heard of him." The girl replied coldly. "I didn't live under a rock."

"He's holding a small banquet this evening, in celebration of his recent success in New York." Jake informed her. "Strictly a black tie event, but I figured we might drop by."

"I like the sound of that." The girl said. "When do we leave?"

"Soon as the sun sets."

Penny sat, stunned. She wasn't sure what to think about these new plans. On one hand, she hated the suits. Especially Riggert. She couldn't really care less about what happened to him. Except, when she thought about how violent that last attack was, it made her stomach churn. She didn't want that to happen again. Not to anybody.

There was a split second where the curtain moved, and Penny, realizing that Jake must have been moving to the door while she was lost in thought, tried to cloak herself. But her invisibility only hid her from sight; not from touch.

Not from the two people that came barging through the curtain, knocking straight into her and stumbling into the wall. Ice cold fear washed over Penny, and her invisibility faltered, leaving her exposed. Jake recovered quickly, turning to glare in her direction. The new girl, with her bright red hair, took a step in Penny's direction, looking almost concerned with wide eyes.

Jake stopped her with a single motion. "Hold on, Harper." He said softly, eyes fixed on Penny. Jake took a few deliberate steps in her direction, crouching down to be next to her. The room was completely silent, all of the residents having heard the commotion and sensing the tension. '

"I'm sorry," Penny said in a hushed whisper, her eyes wide.

"I bet you are." Jake said in a mild voice. There was a long moment where Penny waited for the hammer to fall, but Jake just laughed, snapping the tension in an instant. Penny relaxed, some of her fear falling away.

"Penny, it's okay," Jake said. "I wish you'd just asked me if you wanted to know what was going on, but I'm not going to hurt you for being curious."

Penny swallowed, hesitantly relieved. "Okay," She whispered.

"C'mon," He stood, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her feet. "You can walk outside with us."

Penny fell in step with him, avoiding the eye of Harper, who still stared at her uneasily. She looked at the ground as they walked, uncomfortably conscious of the stares following them as they walked.

"So did you hear the plan?" Jake asked, keeping his eyes forward and his voice low as they walked.

Penny nodded silently, and Jake seemed to see her out of the corner of his eye.

"Makes sense, doesn't it? Finally going after the person that's the root cause of all this? The one person that's been the biggest supporter of Camps and Waiting Homes and Processing Facilities?"

"I guess," Penny said softly. She squinted as the setting sun hit her eyes when they stepped through the warehouse doors.

"You guess?" Jake stopped, putting a hand on Penny's shoulder. "Penny, this is our chance. Our chance to show them that we mean business. That we aren't going to put up with anything else from them. That we aren't going to be underestimated and should be taken seriously."

Penny shrugged away from his hand. "But people are going to get hurt…"

Jake interrupted her with a sigh. "I wish you hadn't had to see all those hurt kids in there. It's going to be different this time, Penny. They won't be expecting us, so there won't be guards with guns. It'll be easy."

"Not just us!" Penny said loudly, frowning up at him. "Those people at the party, you're going to hurt them."

Jake's eyes narrowed a fraction. "They deserve to be hurt, Penny. After everything they've done to us, this is the least that we should be doing to them." His voice was cold and sharp, like fractured ice.

Penny struggled to find the right words to say what she was thinking and feeling. That it wasn't worth it. That people already saw them as less than human; they didn't need to be labeled monsters as well. "It isn't right," She finally said, crossing her arms and looking away.

A small cluster of kids was looking over at them, listening to their carrying voices. Jake glanced around, conscious of the growing audience. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and reasonable. "Penny, I don't like people being hurt either," He took a step forward and placed a hand on her shoulder again. "But when we're fighting a war, we can't afford to be the ones that show mercy."

"Then maybe we shouldn't be fighting a war!" Penny yelled, hitting Jake's hand away and shoving against him, pushing him back a step. A gasp rolled over the crowd as Jake stared at Penny with something like shock and growing disgust in his eyes.

Jake took a step toward her, his mouth opening, when another person pushed through the crowd to dart in front of Penny.

"What the hell is going on here, Jake?" Kai asked sharply, his arms spread as if to ward off attack. Penny let out a breath of relief and wrapped her arms around his waist. Kai let one arm down to rest against her hand in reassurance.

"Penny doesn't seem to share our desire for equality, it seems," Jake said sharply, staring with open hostility at the young girl.

"Jake wants to attack the senator's party!" Penny shouted, looking up at Kai. "He wants us to do what we did at that other place."

The group of observers glanced at each other, whispering to one another. Murmurs of agreement and approval rose above the crowd, but there were small headshakes, concerned whispers.

"Let's go kick their politician asses!" Someone shouted from the back. "Just like Lakewood!" "Yeah, like Lakewood!"

Other voices murmured. "What if we can't?" "There are already so many people hurt…" "Do we even have the strength…?"

"Enough!" Jake shouted, and everyone fell silent. "It's not a matter of what I want, it's what is going to happen. This needs to happen. This is the next step. And I need all of you to take it with me."

Kai spoke above the raucous assent. "Jake, there's already been so much blood. Why can't we just leave well enough alone? At least give it a few days…"

"Because that's how it starts!" Jake shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him. "First we 'give it a couple days'. Then we stop reaching for bigger and better targets. Then we get complacent. And tired. And then we give up. And we are not going to give this up, are we?!"

"NO!" The crowd shouted, drowning out the few that looked unsure.

"So that's it, then? You just keep on killing, letting people die for you?" Kai yelled back.

"This is a war." Jake snarled. "There are always casualties."

Kai stared at Jake in utter disbelief. "You could justify anything with that, couldn't you?" He laughed once, shaking his head. "Well, _we_ aren't going to be a part of this… this… _bloodbath_ any longer." He grabbed Penny's hand and began to pull her away. "Come on, Penny. We're gone."

"Don't let them leave!" Jake shouted angrily, and after a stunned moment, the other psychics leapt to his aid, grabbing Kai and Penny as they tried to dodge away. Kai thrashed, throwing a fist out and catching one boy in the jaw as he seized Kai's arm. The boy dropped like a rock, but another quickly took his place, and as the two were surrounded and subdued, Kai felt Penny torn roughly from his side. She screamed in fear and Kai surged toward her with renewed energy.

"NO! Let her go, you piece of shit!" Kai roared, struggling against the strong hands holding him back. He jerked, and felt a few of the grips begin to loosen. He was about to slip away when he felt another hand touch the back of his neck. A sudden jolt spiked through him, a stunning and instant flash of pain that he felt in his whole body, in every and each cell. His legs turned to jelly and he collapsed to the ground, his breath stolen by the incredible agony.

Kai managed to turn on his back to see the new girl, Harper, standing over him with eyes blazing. "I don't think Jake was finished with your conversation." She said, her voice as icy as her eyes were fiery.

"What… the hell… was that?" Kai gasped, still reeling from the pain. Nothing hurt any longer, but the memory of the pain was fused in his bones, still echoing unpleasantly when he thought of it.

Harper offered a sharp half-smile and stepped back, her hands clasped firmly behind her back. The other psychics melted back and gave her a wide berth. Kai looked up, searching for Penny, and found her a few feet from him, trapped in the arms of a large girl, hair tied in tight cornrows. The girl had Penny's wrists clamped tightly in her own hands, and she held her back firmly as Penny struggled to reach Kai.

Kai rolled over to his knees, mustering the strength to get back to his feet. "This is a new low for you." He growled to Jake, who watched the whole affair apathetically. "Attacking one of your own? For what? How do you justify this?"

"Like I said before." Jake said in a stony voice. "We're at war. I can't risk you going off and revealing our location to the enemy."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Kai pleaded desperately. "This isn't a war. There isn't an enemy. You're taking this too far, too fast, and if you're not careful, you're going to lose complete control of it."

"Sounds like the words of a traitor." Jake said. He looked to a few of the psychics standing guard above Kai. "Take him into the warehouse. Find something to chain him and something to chain him to."

They grabbed Kai's arms and hauled him to his feet, dragging him roughly to the warehouse.

"No! Kai!" Penny sobbed, pulling against the girl's arms. She looked up at Jake with streaming eyes. "Why can't we just leave?"

Jake smiled coldly and leaned down until he was inches from her face. "You are much too valuable to lose, Penny. He straightened, turning away. "You'll understand when you're older." He glanced at the cornrowed girl holding her. "Sasha, take her up to the warehouse, too. Make sure they aren't next to each other."

Sasha hesitated. "Are we… Should we chain her?"

"Do what you have to."

* * *

Sam stood off to the side, watching as a group of kids jumped into the lake, screeching gleefully. He smiled, watching the kids splash each other and flail around in the water. A few feet in front of him, Keller stood with his camera, capturing the moment on tape. The kids had been hesitant at first, self-conscious in front of outside eyes, but Jenna had explained to them that they were only there to observe. After a few minutes, the kids had forgotten the cameras and Jenna's note taking and were enjoying themselves in the water.

It was odd watching them horse around, Sam realized. He thought of them as kids, but in reality, most of them weren't much younger than he was. There were a few of them that had to be older than he was, too. Maybe it was just the fact that they seemed so innocent, so carefree. There seemed to be no weight on their shoulders. No troubles to keep them up at night. The thought of everything he was juggling at the moment made his head ache.

Suddenly, Sam felt hands grab his shoulders, arms envelope his sides. He was tugged backwards, and he fought to regain his footing as he slipped. His mouth opened in shock, a cry growing on his lips, before a hand clamped over his face and he couldn't say a word.

A little, dainty hand with glossy pink fingernails.

The arms released him and hand slid off his mouth, a giggle sounding from behind him. Sam turned to see Mariana and Toby chuckling behind him.

"You should have seen the look on your face." Toby laughed, hands on his knees. He straightened with a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Although I can't really attest to what it looked like, considering I didn't see it either. But I bet it was priceless." He added with a wink.

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming?" Mariana said, slapping Sam's arm before drawing him into a hug.

"It was kind of a last minute thing." Sam admitted, giving Mariana a one armed hug and stepping back.

"You weren't planning on avoiding us, were you?" Toby asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No, I-" Sam started to protest.

"Oh, sure. Yeah, uh huh." Toby interrupted flippantly. "I know you, Winchester."

"Guys, c'mon, I wasn't-"

"One doth protest-eth too much-eth." Toby said, raising an eyebrow. Mariana groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Jesus, Toby, if you're gonna quote Shakespeare, don't do it like a half-brained nitwit."

"You can't blame Toby. It's just in his nature." A sharp voice said from behind them, approaching quickly. Lily stepped into view, her eyes locking onto Sam instantly.

"Hey, Lily." Sam said, thinking about the last encounter they'd had.

"Sam." Her reply was distant, not the forgiving, warm tone Sam had been hoping for. So it seemed that all was not forgiven. At Lily's dismissive slight, Sam's headache racked up another notch.

"So what are you doing here?" Toby said brightly to Sam, either unaware of the tension or unconcerned by it.

"I'm here with Jenna Forrester," Sam explained, gesturing back to her and Keller, then running one hand across his forehead, pressing against his aching temple. "We thought it would be a good idea to get some footage of psychics doing normal kid stuff. Try to cut back some of the anger after all the attacks."

"So these two are part of that group you were telling us about?" Mariana asked.

"Yeah, the Psychic Liberty Foundation," Sam nodded. He closed his eyes as his head throbbed.

Mariana asked him a question, but it was lost to Sam as the pulses of pain came again, washing over him in waves, like nails slowly being pressed further and further into his brain.

It had to be a vision. Sam attempted to sit, and felt his knees give out under him. There was muffled shouting, and then arms caught him, lowering him carefully to the grass. Sam fought to open his eyes, but the sunlight was blinding, exacerbating the pressure in his head, and he slammed them shut again.

"Sam? Sam!" He could hear Mariana shouting, Toby calling for help. His head was resting in someone's lap, and though he couldn't hear the words, he felt the lightest breeze as soft words were whispered in his ear.

As hard as Sam fought to stay awake, the vision sucked him in like quicksand, pulling him deep into a reality far away from his own. He heard crashing, panting, and the blasting of a shotgun firing into walls. He saw flashes of shadows sprinting through darkened hallways, and smelled the thick scent of gunpowder and blood. But just under that heavy stench, Sam detected a lighter smell. Something he might not have recognized if he hadn't spent almost two years living in the same house as the wearer…

John's leather jacket.

* * *

 **Sorry for the long hiatus, guys… I sort of lost inspiration, and for some reason this chapter was really difficult to get out. I think I've worked it out, and I'm going to put more focus on this story again.**

 **Thank you all so much for your kind reviews! I used to get them straight to my email, so I'd see when someone would review. It hasn't been doing that anymore, so if anyone knows what that's all about, feel free to let me know. : )**

 **But in all seriousness, reading everyone's super supportive comments were incredibly uplifting, and it really helped me believe in myself and find the motivation to buckle down and finally figure out what my problem with the story was. And I think I did. Thanks to all of you. 3 Thanks again!**

 **Cheers!**


	9. Hail Mary

**Chapter 9 - Hail Mary**

* * *

 _Well,_ Dean thought as a wooden chair flew over his head and crashed into the wall, splintering into a thousand tiny fragments. _I am thoroughly and completely screwed._

He ducked into the hallway, hugging the shotgun to his chest. Dean angled his head toward the edge, trying to get a glimpse of the monster currently destroying all the decor in the abandoned hotel. He just barely saw the back of the creature, covered in hair and rippling with muscle.

Hands shaking with adrenaline, Dean dug through his pocket until he found a trusty vial of gasoline. A risky trick, but his dad had once told him that the strong scent of gasoline could confuse a werewolf, or any scent dependent creature. He'd managed to slash this werewolf with his silver knife, so it would depend on scent and hearing to locate him. This trick might buy him a couple extra minutes to think of a plan.

He'd messed up. That much was certain. He had assumed and guessed and half-assed his way through this whole hunt, all in the name of getting it done fast enough to make his dad proud. Maybe if he hadn't been so preoccupied with speed, he would have noticed the discrepancies in what he was seeing.

Like how the victims didn't match up. Some were brutally torn apart, others were killed in a way that suggested more skill. Or experience. All were missing a heart, but some were missing more, as if the killer hadn't been sure what it wanted. Or just hadn't been very particular about it.

Like how the witness statements were varied. Some saw a huge beast, covered in hair, enormous teeth, all the standard descriptions of a werewolf. Others, the few that Dean had dismissed, had described a smaller figure, crazed but almost clinical, stabbing and carving up the victims with kitchen knives. Dean had dismissed these accounts as lies or misunderstandings. After all, most people would never admit they thought they saw the Big Bad Wolf.

Like how easy it was to track the werewolf to its den. Finding a bloody handkerchief that hadn't belonged to the victim tucked under the edge of the couch. In another house, finding a dirty little name plate, inscribed with a three digit number. Both of which, after a little digging, Dean found to have come from an old, decrepit, abandoned hotel on the edge of town. Small, obvious clues hidden in plain sight that all pointed him to the same place.

Dean mentally smacked himself for being so naive. Everything about the hunt had screamed _TRAP!_ So why hadn't he listened to the little voice inside him telling him to bail?

There was no more time for thought when the monster let out another bellow. It swiped a hand across the ornate lobby, crashing through the reception desk. Dean checked his ammo and saw he only had one shot left in his shotgun. Not that the other six had done him any good.

He didn't understand it. This thing was definitely a werewolf. A frickin' strong one, but still just a werewolf. So why the hell weren't the silver bullets working? Nonetheless, they were all he had. He'd just have to make the last one shot count. Straight to the eyes were his best bet.

Or… He could find a way out. It was cowardly and he hated the idea of it. Most hunters would rather die than back away from a hunt. But most hunters were on their own, with little to no family left, maybe a few claiming some estranged cousins. Despite how regular a profession hunting had become, it was still mostly a lone man's job. And that wasn't Dean. He had parents and a little brother to get home to.

Not to mention he was barely twenty. He still had life to live.

Just as he was assessing the distance from his spot to the nearest window and trying to calculate how fast the creature would move, a cold chill swept through the space. Black fog oozed in through the busted door, clouding across the ceiling.

 _What the hell…?_ Dean thought, staring up at the smoke as it spread.

The fog collected back into one corner, moving down the hall until it was gathered in one column. The smoke compacted, moving together, closer and closer until it took on the appearance of a human. A woman, more specifically. She turned her cold eyes to Dean, and he raised his gun instinctually, knowing that it would have no effect on her.

"Poor little pet," The woman cooed, her voice resonant and loud, despite the roaring and crashing from the werewolf. She turned her eyes to the rampaging beast. "Lost your prey, did you?"

The beast huffed and turned to her, furrowing its brows. It roared in frustration, overturning a chair. The woman smiled in sympathy, and then stretched a finger out in Dean's direction. "Look there, my pet. Go fetch." She said it casually, her sweet voice a severe contrast to her orders.

The monster followed her gesture, and its bloody and sightless eyes roamed over where Dean stood. Dean knew that if he stood still, the creature would be more likely to miss him, but the urge to find better cover and vantage point was infused in his bones, nearly impossible to ignore. His weight shifted marginally backwards, and the old boards creaked under his boots.

The werewolf's ears perked, and it let out excited baying, like a bloodhound that finally found the scent. Dean turned immediately and charged down the hallway, heading for the staircase that went up. He heard the pounding off footsteps behind him, and knew that the wolf was right on his heels.

Dean snagged the railing as he went up, using it to spin himself up the staircase as it turned a hundred and eighty degrees. The werewolf was not as spry and crashed into the wall before skittering around to follow him. He'd bought himself an extra half a second.

He charged ahead, his eyes on the window at the far end of the hall. Werewolves were strong. They were fast. But they were also clumsy. His only chance rested in being able to out-maneuver the werewolf. Get it going fast enough, and then duck down. Send it sailing through that window.

It was probably the stupidest plan he'd ever come up with. It was almost certainly doomed to failure. It was also his only shot.

The window was approaching rapidly. Dean was preparing to slow and duck, trying to guess the timing and speed he would need, when a cloud of smoke came shooting out of a vent in the floor. It came careening at his head, the vague shape of a woman's face screaming loudly at him. It took him off guard for half a second. Half a second too long.

Dean lifted his head to see a mass of fur leaping toward him. He lifted his arms to his face and launched himself to the side, trying to dodge the attack. But he wasn't fast enough.

He felt the impact like a four ton semi, plowing into him and then straight through him, sending them both crashing into the window. There was the thrilling sense of weightlessness as they both went flying into the air, and then the stomach dropping fall as they descended. And then incredible pain as Dean landed on the yard outside with a two hundred pound werewolf in his lap.

The werewolf was stunned for a moment, and Dean used the precious seconds to try and find his gun with his right hand, the only appendage he had that wasn't trapped under the monster's dead weight. He couldn't feel the weapon in his holster and knew that it must have flown out during the fall. He craned his neck and spotted it only a few feet away, to the left of his head.

Only problem being that his left hand was going numb under the weight of a giant werewolf ass and his right hand would never stretch that far. And the fact that the monster was starting to shake itself out of the stupor. And he could hear the screeching of the smoke demon approaching fast. On second thought, he had more than one problem.

The werewolf gave its head a final shake and looked down at its trapped prey. It snarled, clearly angered by all the trouble it had to go to to catch him. The monster shifted its weight, alleviating some of the pressure on his hand, but Dean still couldn't pull it free. Dean raised his head off the ground and spit in the monster's eyes. He wasn't sure if the monster was aware enough to find it offensive, but at the very least he hoped it was irritating.

The werewolf rocked back, growling and shaking its head in confusion and aggravation, and Dean took advantage of the motion to yank his hand free. He stretched it toward the gun, still a few inches short. The werewolf took no notice, leaning down toward his face and snarling menacingly. It appeared that now that it had him trapped, it wanted to savor the kill.

"What are you waiting for, mutt?" A shriek came from the doorway. A figure approached, silhouetted by the afternoon sun. The werewolf paused, looking at the person. The glare faded, and Dean saw the smoke condense into a solid form, something he wouldn't suspect as being anything but human if not for what he had just witnessed.

The woman looked like a librarian, not a mass murdering demon. And not even a hot librarian, for the record. She wore a simple pencil skirt and white blouse, with a pink cardigan around her shoulders. Her hair was down in ringlets around her face, framing doll-like features with murderous intent.

"Go on, pet." The woman urged, smiling as if she were about to offer someone a batch of homemade brownies. "Tear him apart."

The werewolf, mouth opening into a snarl of hunger, reared back to attack just as Dean threw all his energy into one last surge toward the gun. He felt the butt touch his fingers and he pulled it toward him, swinging it up to aim at the raised werewolf. its maw was exposed, and he lined up the shot perfectly. Dean drew in a breath, let it out, squeezed the trigger….

And missed.

The bullet whizzed by, grazing the side of the werewolf's skull. It barely flinched, ears flattening from the noise, but unaffected by its near death. Dean's hand was shaking, and he couldn't quite process that he'd missed. He hadn't missed a shot in years. Certainly not one so close.

The woman laughed, her voice like bells of ice, and turned away. "Enjoy your dinner, my pet."

The werewolf lunged forward, teeth aiming for Dean's neck, and he brought his right hand, clutching something tightly, up to his chest. The werewolf, intent on the kill, took no notice of the glint of silver below it, so focused was it on the thought of the approaching meal.

It was a Hail Mary, Dean knew that, but it was all he had left. The knife he held up to his chest wasn't even silver. It was regular steel, but Dean was hoping what he was planning to do with it would be enough. As the werewolf threw itself for his neck, he thrust the knife sharply up, so that it embedded in the monster's throat.

The monster took no notice, still bearing down on him, and it took both hands and all Dean's strength to keep the monster from falling on his throat. He jerked the knife to the side, performing a crude partial decapitation, and this jolted the monster from its blood lust. It faltered, enough that Dean managed to pull the knife free and slash it back the other way.

The monster's body collapsed into the dirt next to the fallen hunter. Its head followed moments after.

Dean fell back, his arms going weak. The rush of adrenaline left him lightheaded, but there was a high that took him right after a kill. The feeling of having slipped through Death's reaching fingers once again. The feeling of reveling in safety after danger nipped at your heels.

Except he wasn't safe. Because he'd forgotten there was more than one monster present.

Dean's eyes flew open just as the long dagger was stabbed through his abdomen. He felt it slide through him and embed in the ground below. The pain didn't register, only a numbness and a dull horror at the fact that he was going to die. Above him, the woman stared down with a thin smile.

"You're a hard one to kill, Dean Winchester." She hissed. "But, I suppose, as they say… When you want something done right, you must do it yourself." She lifted her hands from the blade, leaving it speared through Dean, its duel handle rising into the sky like a cross marking a grave.

Dean struggled to pull in a breath, choking on blood that was clogging his throat. Darkness closed in around his vision, but he saw faces swimming in the light. Mary. John. Sammy.

" _Sammy…_ " Dean gurgled, images of his hazel eyed brother flickering before his eyes.

"Oh, don't worry, Dean. I'll get to your brother eventually. You are only my first step." The woman said, stepping around his body to stand above his head. "I suppose I could end it quickly for you… Snap your neck above the third juncture, you wouldn't feel a thing…" Her eyes assessed him coldly. "But I'd much rather Sam know that you suffered for hours before you died. In agony. Waiting for the blissful mercy of death." Another smile twisted her lips. "Yes, that's how I want him to remember your final hours."

Dean tried to focus on what she was saying, but the world was fading fast. He couldn't feel his feet. He couldn't feel his hands. All he could feel was the slowly building, blinding pain in his gut and the terror that death was finally upon him.

The woman turned away, and tossed her final words casually over her shoulder to him as he walked away. "I'm afraid I can't afford to waste all that time on you, Dean, dear. Things to do, people to meet. You understand, I'm sure." A column of smoke lifted into the sky and she was gone, leaving him alone with the beating sun and the terror and the pain.

 _Sammy…?_

He was alone… And it hurt… And he just wanted to see his parents…. Hug his brother… One more time…

He felt his mother's arms around his shoulders. Smelled the familiar aftershave of his father. He could see no one above him but the wide sky, but if he closed his eyes, it was almost like they were with him.

Snapshots flew through his head, faster than he could register them all. But it was okay, because he didn't need to be reminded of them. He knew them all, could never forget.

Watching Sam arrive at their home, beaten and broken.

Playing catch in their front yard and throwing goldfish to Bones.

Wrestling with him after school.

Teasing him about his girlfriend.

Teaching him how to shoot a gun, even though it was forbidden and Mary hated the idea.

Teaching him how to drive, how to ask Maia out on a date, how to spot a run down transmission and change a tire.

Watching his figure grow smaller as Dean drove away in the Impala for his first solo hunt.

Dean clung to those moments, those memories, as the last of his strength faded and the darkness finally swooped down to pull him into Death's waiting arms.

* * *

 _I can't. Not again. Not again. Dean can't be gone. Dean isn't dead. He has to be okay. He will be okay._

People were running around his head, shouting loudly. Someone held his head in their lap, hands gently closed around his wrists, trying to keep him from crushing his own skull with how hard his palms were pressing against his head.

 _I saw him die. I saw him bleed out. He was just lying there, dying. So much blood, there was so much blood…_

Muffled voices spoke to him, jostled his shoulders. He heard a loud screaming, a raw voice torn with pain and horror. His throat stung and burned, breath pulled from his lungs by the word that he realized was coming from himself.

 _He's dead. Oh, god. Dean, you can't be dead. Please, please don't be dead. Dean, please, please…_

Sirens surrounded his ears. Fingers pressed against his neck, eyes pried open to be shined in by a harsh light. It didn't matter. He felt nothing. Saw nothing. Was nothing.

 _Not Daniel. Please, don't take Daniel. So much blood, there was so much blood… He can't be dead… Dean…._

So many people touching him, talking to him, holding him. Didn't they realize he was gone? Why were they bothering with him when his brother was dead? Hands gently tried to pull him from the lap that he laid on, from the hands that were holding him. He kicked away, resisting their attempts to move him. The hands turned more forceful, yanking him away.

He shouted to them, his own words getting lost in the sea of his grief. The world was a blur, faces melding together in a sea of loss and confusion. He heard voices trying to comfort him, hands pressing against his face in an effort to reach him.

 _Sam… wrong… all okay…. Mary's on… tell us… calm… try to…_

Gradually the fog faded, and Sam blinked, looking up through tears at the faces above him. Mariana looked down on him, tears trailing down her cheeks. Toby stood behind her, his eyes serious for once and stormy with concern. And directly above him, hands still holding onto his own, is Lily.

"Hey, squirt," Lily said in an unusually subdued and gentle voice. "Welcome back."

"Dean," Sam lurched upward, trying to get back on his feet. A wave of vertigo washed over him, and Toby and Mariana broke out into protest, pulling him back down. Jenna was talking rapidly into her cell phone a few feet away.

"Stay still, Sam." Lily said with the typical bite in her voice. "Jesus, are you _trying_ to waste yourself?"

"You don't understand," Sam said, feeling a strong sense of urgency. "It's Dean. I have to get to him… He's… He's…" Sam couldn't even get the word out.

"We know, Sam." Mariana whispered. "We heard enough of what you were saying… We called your dad. He's going up with a bunch of other guys to find Dean."

Sam shook his head. "It's too late. They won't make in time."

"You don't know that, Sam." Lily insisted. "People survive things all the time. Dean's tough. He'll be-"

"NO!" Sam shoved away from her, getting to his feet despite multiple protests. "You don't know. You weren't there. I was! I saw her stab him, I saw him die. He's dead! He's dead and it's my fault. I didn't stop it and it's my fault and he's dead!" Sam choked, his breathing coming more rapidly. "It's my fault. God, IT'S MY FAULT!"

Hands grabbed his arms as he tried to stumble away, and he fought them, lashing out at the demon that had killed Dean and the shooter that had killed Daniel and the whole goddamn universe for doing it all to the people that he loved. He heard people shouting for him to calm down before he hyperventilated, and his breath kept coming quicker, vision going fuzzy. Sounds became muffled, and the haze returned, softening all the pain and horror.

"Sam!" One voice broke through the fog, her hands gripping his shoulders firmly. "It's okay, baby, I'm here now." Even with his eyes clenched tightly shut, Sam knew who it was. He recognized the scent of her flowery perfume and the soothing tone of her voice.

"Mom…" Sam whispered and felt his legs go weak beneath him. Mary wrapped her arms around him, one hand reaching up to cup the back of his head. "Dean… I saw…"

"I know, baby," Mary cut him off, and Sam noticed the strain in her eyes and the tremble in her lips. "We have to go, okay? We're meeting your father in Orthe."

Sam nodded, and Mary set off, Sam walking quickly beside her. He passed Lilly, Mariana, and Toby, who all watched him silently. Mariana twisted her hands together, squeezing her fingers so tightly they went white.

Sam pulled the passenger door shut and watched Mary as she slipped into the driver's seat, quickly putting the car in drive. Sam waited as Mary turned out of the rocky parking lot and back onto the long path through the woods. He waited as they pulled out onto the highway. He waited as rain began to patter onto the roof of car and the silence became stifling.

"He's going to be okay, right?" Sam finally said softly, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. "Dad… found him, didn't he? Is… Is he-"

"All I know is they found him. Alive." Mary cut him off, her voice taut and fragile. "John said he would call when he knew more."

A few more moments of a silence charged with unsaid words, and Sam looked back at Mary. "No news… Is that good news?"

Mary didn't answer him, her eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead, but Sam saw her fingers tighten around the wheel, knuckles going as white as Mariana's had. He saw the way her mouth tightened, like she was holding in a cry. And he saw the tear that slipped down her cheek before she could wipe it away.

Sam turned back to the window, watching the rain falling in sheets around the car, and was struck with the sudden feeling that his entire world was falling down around him.

* * *

"I've found it," Pearson whispered reverently, gazing out into the field. Gravestones stood crookedly out of the ground, marking the resting places of the dead. The words engraved on them were illegible, having been abandoned to the elements long ago. In fact, Pearson was sure he was the first person to have stepped foot in the cemetery in half a century.

 _ **Yes, you have.**_

"What am I to do now?" Pearson asked aloud, staring at the mausoleum Azazel had lead him to. Its stone doors were overlaid with an iron gate, secured with a heavy padlock. There was a strong sense of power that emanated from the building, a barely contained energy that yearned to burst forth. "How do I free you?"

 _ **I will need my vessel and the girl. Find them, and then we can move forward.**_

"How do I find her?" Pearson asked desperately. "I don't know her name, where to start… I don't even know what she looks like."

 _ **You don't need to. She's already found your prodigy.**_

"Jake?" Pearson laughed. "That boy is nothing-"

 _ **He is useful, if nothing else. You'll find her with them. Then we must prepare to bring Sam into the fold.**_

Pearson nodded, staring at the large stone building. It was coming together. It was all coming together. It wouldn't be long now.

* * *

Everything was perfect. The tablecloths matched the finest wines and horderves had been set out for the guests. Every inch of the fine mansion had been dusted, scrubbed, and polished. All was how it should be.

And Senator Riggert expected nothing less.

His campaign donors had been very generous, and he felt he was obligated to return the favor. As he wound through the crowd, shaking hands and smiling at jokes, the Senator reflected on what a success the night had been.

True, there had been less of a turnout than hoped, but really, how surprised could he be, given all the recent psychic attacks? People were scared to leave their houses, too terrorized by the monsters to poke their heads out from under cover. Senator Riggert found it extremely concerning and disheartening.

He also found it very helpful.

After all, this whole psychic issue was what had kept him in office for the past four years. Even before that, the Senator had been able to stay very connected and influential through his ideas and innovations considering the psychic problem. He was always advocating higher security, more caution. And it was clearly needed, considering the recent rebellion.

The Senator paused by his window, gazing out over his impressive lawn, lit by lights around its perimeter. He enjoyed the symmetry of if all, evenly spaced spots of brightness in the otherwise unbroken dark. Except for the five or six by the woods next to the Senator's house, all of which were currently not working.

The Senator tried to swallow his irritation, thinking crossly about how he was going to have to speak with his groundskeeper about this. Such a blunder, especially on a night when so many people were present… These were the kind of mistakes-

A piercing sound shot through the air, along with a cacophony of shatters that came from a hundred wine glasses falling to the ground. The Senator found his hands pressed his hands against his ears, unsuccessfully warding off the sound.

The window before him shattered, shards falling to the ground as the Senator watched, stunned. Through the gaping window stared three children. One, whom the Senator recognized as the ring leader to almost all of the recent incidents, stared at the Senator with undisguised hatred. To his right, a girl with flaming red hair, holding tight to a younger girl, whose eyes were wide and terrified.

The piercing sound had halted, but there was still a ringing in the Senator's ears, blocking all other sound. He saw the boy mouth words, as though shouting to those behind him, and more children came pouring through the window. The Senator stumbled backward, feeling the ground shake as all of his guests tried to escape the onslaught of psychics.

A boy with dreads balled his hands together, thrusting them outward at a huddle of retreating guests, sending a ball of energy careening toward the group and blasting them off their feet. One of the doors was blocked by a wall of ice, quickly erected by a small girl with twin braids. The other was cut off by a rush of wind, sending tables crashing into the doorway.

The Senator stood in the center of a room of chaos, tree branches crashing through the roof and into the chandelier, the pieces of which twinkled and shone on their way to the floor. The ground trembled under their feet, fissures cracking the handsome hardwood into splinters. Psychics popped in and out of view, sending blasts of energy shooting around the room.

Though still dazed, the Senator was aware enough to know that this was bad. He turned for the only exit still available, the shattered window, and found himself face to face with the boy that started the entire mess.

Jake Talley smiled maliciously, reaching to place a hand on the Senator's shoulder. It was almost friendly, amiable. And then his fingers tightened.

The Senator felt his shoulder crack under the strain, and he let out a moan, falling to his knees. Jake showed no mercy, pressing until the man was prone on the floor. The Senator gasped when Jake released his grip, and looked up to see the boy turn to all of his followers. The ringing began to subside in his ears, enough that he caught Jake's shouted words.

" _Who wants the next crack at him?_ "

* * *

They were like nightmares. Except they weren't.

 _Fire played gleefully at his heels, reaching out at his command to eat at the darkness around him. He smiled at the heat, washing over him like a comforting friend._

 _There was no more screaming; he had taken care of all of that. It had been easy. Child's play. Made him wish for a bigger challenge, something more satisfying to destroy._

 _A hand brushed his ankle, fingers stiff and cold from death. He kicked it aside, stepping over the other few corpses strewn about. As he stepped through the carnage, the fire pounced upon the bodies eagerly, devouring them in seconds._

 _He reveled in the power, the strength. He was invincible, all-powerful, absolutely unstoppable. It was better than he'd ever thought it could be._

" _ **You see, my son?"**_ _The shadow whispered to him, and he smiled._ _ **"Together, we are powerful… Such incredible power."**_

 _He nodded in agreement, flexing his hands and watching the fire follow his movements._

" _ **But… This isn't the best we could be. To be truly invincible, all-powerful, unstoppable, you must find another. Find her, the girl born of flames and agony, and see your true destiny revealed."**_

 _The shadow lengthened, stretching tall above him._

" _ **But, by all means, enjoy yourself for now… And know that it will only get better…"**_

 _He heard more screams, and unlike before, these filled him with excitement. Perhaps these would prove to be more entertaining prey. He hurried off to find them, kicking through the debris on the ground, sending a blackened skull rattling across the ground…_

Sam jolted awake, blinking blearily under the harsh hospital lights. He straightened stiffly, sitting up in the plastic waiting chair. Next to him, Mary shifted, pulling her arm away from his shoulders. She smiled and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"Has there been any news?"

Mary shook her head. "Still in surgery. But they said there haven't been any complications. He's strong, they said… He has a… chance…" Mary's voice caught, and Sam reached over and took her hand, squeezing reassuringly.

 _ **So sweet. A mother's love for a child that isn't even her own.**_

Sam stiffened, lurching to his feet. "I need some air," He choked out and quickly walked to the door, avoiding Mary's concerned eyes.

 _ **Really, Sam. I find it quite endearing that these humans have taken to you so readily. As if the deer were to adopt the wolf. No thought to the obvious danger you pose to them.**_

 _You can't be here,_ Sam thought, pacing the hallway. He pressed his hands to his eyes, as if to force Azazel out of his head by pure force.

 _ **Certainly, I can, Sammy. I have as much right to this vessel as you do. Perhaps moreso, some could argue. I very nearly shaped your entire existence…. That earns me some headspace, wouldn't you agree?**_

He'd thought he had it under control. Azazel had been silent for days, and Sam hadn't been able to stop himself from hoping that the problem would just go away. After all, with everything else going on, he wasn't sure that he could handle anything else.

 _ **Sammy, I don't mean to be a problem for you. I want to help you. Work with you. You've seen the kinds of great things that we could do together. How powerful you could be if you accepted me.**_

 _I will never accept you,_ Sam snarled silently. _I don't care if I have to deal with you for the rest of my life. You will never take control again._

 _ **Ah, your obstination is so refreshing, Sam. Too many of your fellow Millennials give up so quickly. It really makes everything much too easy, don't you think?**_

Sam remembered his dream, the ease with which he killed, how he was almost bored by the simplicity, and his stomach lurched with shame and nausea.

 _That will never happen again. I swear, if it takes-_

"Sam," Mary poked her head out of the waiting room door. "Dean's out of surgery."

* * *

 **Finally here, right? At this rate, it'll take me a decade to finish this fic. :)**

 **Hope this didn't feel too much like filler… There's just a few things that have to be set up before the next installment.**

 **Keep an eye out for the next chapter sometime in the next three years. ;)**


	10. Escalations

**Chapter 10 - Escalation**

* * *

Sam hated hospitals. He'd hated them even before he'd been taken away, but now, there was nothing about the place that he could stand. It was always simultaneously too quiet and too loud. Too scentless and yet, noxious with smells. Too bright and void of color at the same time.

Sam sat in a stiff plastic chair, looking at the square tiles on the floor while Mary, John, and the doctor talked outside of their crowded ICU room. Crowded because of the many machines that were taking up floor space. The cardiac monitor because the doctors weren't sure that his heart wasn't going to give out at any second. The IV and PIC line because he wasn't eating on his own. The ventilator because he couldn't even breathe.

Sam glanced up at his older brother, who had always seemed larger than life, lying still and silent on the too-big hospital bed. Pillows were stacked comfortably under his neck, cotton blankets pulled up to his armpits. His arms rested easily on top of the sheets. His eyes were closed, and if it weren't for the giant tube erupting from his lips, Sam might have just been able to assume that he was sleeping.

They had been here for over twenty hours now, and the only thing that the doctors could tell them was that Dean was "extremely lucky". Something Sam was finding hard to agree with.

"Lucky" was something that happened to the people that won the lottery. "Lucky" was someone who found twenty bucks in the couch cushions. "Lucky" was running into the president at the grocery store.

There was nothing "lucky" about being stabbed in the chest.

Sam listened to the doctor talk to his parents, explaining that there wasn't anything more they could do for Dean, that now it was up to him to fight the infection and wake up again. If he was going to wake up. It set his blood boiling the way that the resident was talking, as if Dean might not be strong enough to overcome this. Like he wasn't going to make it out and be fine.

"There isn't anything else that you can do?" Mary whispered desperately, glancing over at Dean. "I mean, is there a specialist that we can talk to?"

The doctor glanced at the clock on the wall of Dean's room, obviously eager to leave this bleak situation and move on to something else. "You can if you want to, Ma'am, but they're only going to tell you what I have. The infection entered his bloodstream and made its way into the brain. He is receiving antibiotics and anticonvulsants to hopefully counteract the seizures that put him in this coma. At this point, there is nothing else that we can do but observe and react as needed."

Sam clenched his fist at the doctor's blase tone. He glanced over at the man, who was edging toward the door, clearly trying to make his exit. A sudden surge of anger overtook him, and he forced his gaze away, only to see a glass of water on the overbed table begin to shudder and rattle. Sam's heart jolted, and the glass burst, sending shards skidding to the floor.

Sam shot to his feet, as the doctor gasped and looked over.

"Are you alright?" The man asked sharply. Sam jerked his head in a nod, watching the man carefully. He didn't seem to realize what happened, and with another glance at the clock and some mumbled assurances that he would alert the nurses, the resident ducked out of the room.

Sam stared at the floor as the doctor left, feeling John's stare on the back of his neck.

John took hold of Sam's shoulder, steering him toward the door. "Why don't you and I take a walk?"

Mary took Sam's place at Dean's side. She reached over and placed her hand over Dean's, one thumb compulsively running over his wrist. Her eyes were filled with worry, her shoulders taut with tension.

John lead Sam out into the hallway. They walked down a few paces until they reached a tiny sitting room with no one in it. John pushed Sam ahead and closed the door behind them. He turned to face Sam slowly, with a face lined with weariness.

"Sam." John began. "What is going on with you?"

Sam avoided his gaze. "I don't know what you're talking about." He said stiffly. "I didn't mean to do that, that guy just made me… angry."

"You don't think I haven't noticed everything that's been going on the last few weeks?"

Sam looked up sharply, confused about which thing his adoptive father was now aware.

"Sam, I've seen the ways your powers have been acting out recently. It wasn't hard to figure out." John sighed as Sam looked at the floor again. "I just wish that you'd trusted us enough to talk to us about it. Did you think that we were going to turn you in?"

"No!" Sam interjected. "I just couldn't…"

"Couldn't what, Sam?"

"I couldn't admit that I was losing control of them. That I _am_ losing control of them." Sam admitted. "It feels like every other day something's flying off the shelves or getting knocked off the walls and I hate knowing that it's all _me_! That I can do this thing that can hurt people when I can't control it, because _I can't control it!_ "

John stopped Sam by pulling him into a tight embrace. Sam was horrified to feel tears welling up in his eyes, and swallowed hard to keep them at bay. "Sam, I understand that things are difficult for you right now, and that there isn't much we can do to help, but I need you to be strong, all right?" John stepped back, looking firmly into Sam's eyes. "Things like what just happened, up there? They can't happen when we're here, you understand? Not only will they keep you away from Dean, but they might just decide to call up the DPA and order a reassessment of your abilities." The thought of it chilled Sam to the bone. "So you do whatever you have to do. Take a walk, go get some food. But you need to keep yourself in control."

John looked at Sam solemnly. "Understand?"

Sam nodded, eyes still on the floor. "I understand."

John sighed, his worries slightly eased, and leaned forward, pressing a brief kiss to Sam's head. "However we can help, son, we will. You know that."

"I know, Dad."

* * *

Taking John's advice, Sam found himself wandering through the halls of the hospital, mostly following the smell of hot food. He ended up in the food court on the ground level, which was surprisingly not as busy as he'd thought it might be.

Without any money, Sam took an empty table, watching the counter and the people behind it as they grabbed food for ragged patrons, who looked like they might as well be eating cardboard for all they cared. Sam wished he couldn't relate to them so easily.

"Sam?"

Sam stood up and spun around, a smile lighting up his face when he saw her. He pulled Maia into a hug, holding her tightly.

"How did you get here? When did you get here? How did- Did my dad-?"

"He called me." Maia interjected. "He figured you might need me. I took a bus."

"You took a bus all the way from Lawrence?"

Maia shrugged like it was no big deal. "A few buses. It really wasn't that bad."

She took a seat next to where Sam had been sitting, pulling him down next to her. "How's Dean?"

At the words, everything came rushing back. The weight of the last few days resettled on his shoulders, somehow heavier than before.

"They don't know. He's in a coma, I guess, but they don't know when he'll wake up or if he'll wake up. Or what he'll be like if he does. Basically, they know nothing."

Maia reached over and wound her fingers through his. "Shit."

Sam squeezed her fingers, eyes focused solemnly on the tabletop. "Shit."

They sat that way as time melted away, thick as syrup. Sam knew that at some point he would have to go back up to that stark, hopeless room, and face Mary's desperation, John's silent worry, the doctors' ignorance. But not yet. For the moment, it was enough just to close his eyes, hold her hand, and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist.

"Sam?" Maia's voice was lowered, and Sam opened his eyes, a smile already on his lips, prepared for her encouragement or words of wisdom. But her eyes were fixed across the room, slightly widened with worry. Her hand tightened slightly around his fingers.

"What?" Sam straightened and followed her line of sight to a woman sitting at a table just like theirs. She had nothing in front of her, but then, a lot of people didn't. She was unassuming, with a modest pencil skirt and soft pink cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. Sam would have asked Maia what the problem was if she had not been staring directly at the two of them, with a blank expression.

When Sam made eye contact with the woman, ice spread down his spine. Her face was bland enough, but her eyes… they were cold, intelligent, piercing… With a jolt, Sam recognized her from weeks ago, when he and Maia were kicked out of the diner.

Almost as if she read his recognition, a little smile spread across her face. She cocked her head to the side, blinked, and stared back at them with eyes completely coated in darkness.

Maia shot to her feet, Sam scrambling up alongside her. "We need to get out of here."

Sam nodded, holding her hand as tightly as she was holding his. He held eye contact with the demon, as if that would keep it from attacking. Sam turned around toward the exit, only to stop short at the sight of a man in jeans and a cowboy hat leaning against the wall. The man's eyebrow twitched in challenge, and he offered a cocky wave with one hand.

Sam's gaze darted around the food court, frantically searching for an exit. They could try and make it out through the kitchen, out the back door… But the way that one of the servers was eyeing them, with a single-minded coldness, made him nervous. This was the ground floor, any window could be an exit… But any person could be a demon. And there were a whole lot of those between them and any way out.

"Sam," Maia whispered, and Sam's attention snapped back to the woman, who had stood up and was slowly walking toward them. Sam stepped forward slightly, angling himself in front of Maia, and slowly pushed her back. He glanced back, noticing Cowboy Hat closing in as well. A fat man in a suit was winding his way through the tables, and the server made their way around the counter and strode toward them, followed by, heartbreakingly enough, a little girl in a blue cotton dress.

They were hopelessly surrounded.

For as loudly as Sam's pulse was pounding in his ears, nobody around them seemed to have noticed the danger. He was torn for half a second between shouting a warning, causing a stampede for cover, or just sprinting for it, when the decision was made for him. A woman shrieked loudly, and Sam looked over to see a woman batting her hands at the little girl that was climbing over a man in a wheelchair to get to them faster. The man was gasping and grimacing in pain, but the girl paid him no heed. As she clambered down, the woman grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back, screaming "You ought to have-"

No one could be sure what it was the little girl ought to have, because in that moment, the girl spun around, her eyes inking over, and thrust out a hand, sending the woman flying over the tables and into the wall with a horrific _CRACK._ There was a moment of stunned disbelief before the room erupted into chaos and everyone sprinted for the open doorway.

"C'mon!" Sam shouted, taking hold of Maia's hand and running for the exit. The other twenty or so patrons were all around them, running in a frantic herd like deer run from wolves. The first, an Asian man not much older than Dean, was just crossing through the breezeway when the knife came flying across the room and buried itself in his neck, followed quickly by a two-pronged meat fork that caught the next woman in the shoulder. She went down screaming while he fell without so much as a gurgle, and everyone else halted in their steps.

A security guard came huffing down the hallway, firearm clenched in both hands. He raised it at the server, who held another three improvised weapons in suspension above her fingers. In response to his threat and orders to _put down the weapon and get your hands in the air_ , the woman in the cardigan simply smiled and twitched her fingers in the guard's direction. In half a second, the guard's neck twisted back at an inhuman angle and he collapsed to the ground amid exclamations of fear and horror.

The woman waved her hand again and everyone scrambled away reflexively, but the only effect was a large metal door tumbling down in front of the doorway. The room fell silent, save for a few whimpers.

Sam and Maia were standing behind an overturned table with a few other people, watching the demons rally with a mounting sense of helplessness. The woman in pink, Cowboy Hat, the server, the fat man in a suit, and the little girl stood in a line, staring at their group of now silent captives.

"Well," The woman chuckled in a voice like honey. "That was quite the spectacle wasn't it? Much more dramatic than it needed to be. But, such is the way with humans. Making mountains of molehills, as the saying goes, hm?"

She turned her piercing gaze on Sam, and something about her clicked in his mind, bringing him back to a few weeks ago, the smell of greasy food, a tense confrontation, an unceremonial ejection.

"You were at the diner," he said, thankful his voice remained strong and steady.

"Why, Sammy, I'm simply touched you remember me." She pressed on hand to her chest in mock humility.

"How do you-?"

"Know your name?" The woman finished for him with a too cheerful smile. "Well, you are the famous Sammy Winchester, aren't you? Who doesn't know your name nowadays? You can't tell me you're surprised, really. A few stunts like the ones you've pulled and some of us are bound to become interested."

Sam swallowed, eyeing the other people, who were now edging away from him in self-preservation. He couldn't really blame them. Anytime a demon singled you out in a group, there was a good chance that those around you were in danger of being hit by the fallout.

"What do you want?"

"We wanted to get a look at Azazel's child prodigy." The server explained with a haughty expression, looking him over. "Not that there's that much to look at."

"Well, you came, you saw," Sam said tightly. "You can leave now."

The woman in pink stepped forward, breaking away from the group to circle Sam. Sam shifted to keep her in sight, one arm braced protectively in front of Maia

"What makes you so powerful, Sammy?" The demon asked silkily. She paused for a moment, inhaling deeply. When her eyes opened, they were filled with a manic energy. "I can smell it coming off of you in waves. Teeming scores of infinite energy, just waiting to explode."

"Stand down, Regalia," The little girl spoke up, the voice of a child mangled by the authority and confidence of a creature of many more years. "You know the orders. Leave Azazel's pet be."

Regalia fixed a hungry stare at Sam, ignoring the demon's commands. "I won't hurt the little thing. I'm merely looking. Azazel's pets aren't truly more than glorified apes, are they? So fragile, so easily broken." There was a sick eagerness to her tone, clearly displaying how much she desired to prove this theory.

Sam felt Maia shudder at the demon's words, and he entwined her fingers with his, squeezing reassuringly.

Regalia craned her neck, trying to see around Sam. "Who's that lovely creature you're hiding, Sammy?" She purred, stepping away from the group to get a closer look at Maia.

Sam glared at the demon, staying firmly planted in front of Maia.

"Regalia…" The girl warned, her tone tense.

"Please, Angeline, dear, you worry too much." Regalia simpered. "I only want a look." She beckoned to Maia with one hand. "Come here, dear one."

Maia stiffened at the gesture, and she took a ridged step around Sam, with a choked protest lodging in the back of her throat.

"Maia, no," Sam held her arm, trying to pull back, but she yanked her arm out of his grip, taking halting steps toward Regalia. Sam's heart lurched, and he reached for her, prepared to charge the demon if need be.

Regalia seemed to sense his intent, and she raised a hand, palm out. "No, Sammy, you can stay there."

Sam felt his feet fix in place, as if fastened by cement. He gritted his teeth, struggling to move forward, even though he knew it was futile.

"So, is that your name?" Regalia purred as Maia approached. " _Maia_." She drew out the word, sounding out every syllable on her tongue. Placing her slender hands on Maia's shoulders, Regalia spun Maia around so that she was facing Sam again. Even from ten feet away, Sam could see the terror in her eyes.

"It's okay, Maia," Sam said in a calm voice, even though both of them knew that it wasn't.

"Of course, everything is fine," Cooed Regalia, tracing a finger up Maia's neck. "Right, Sammy? You'll make sure that everything is fine, won't you?"

"What do you want?" Sam asked.

"Well, my associates merely wanted a glimpse at you. See the Chosen One for themselves. But me? I'm in the mood for some carnage. Some bloodshed." Regalia grinned maliciously, gazing down at Maia, running one hand down her dark curls.

"And I was thinking of starting with this lovely specimen."

Blood rushed in Sam's ears, and his vision ran red. "No!" He growled, feeling the bonds that held his feet in place fracture and fall away as he forced his foot forward.

Angeline stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth falling open into a rosy O, and the other demons drew back slightly, watching him with a shocked wariness.

Regalia simply smiled, as though a theory of hers had been proved true. "Teeming scores…" She murmured quietly, almost to herself.

"Let her go," Sam growled, staring at the demons in anger. "Or I swear to God, I will make you pay."

Regalia narrowed her eyes at Sam, as though assessing his threat's validity. She stepped to the side, still gripping the back of Maia's neck tightly. Sam followed her with his eyes, tensed for action.

"Let me cue you in on a little secret, Sammy," Regalia said, her voice suddenly hard as steel. "God doesn't care."

Regalia turned and beckoned the man in the cowboy hat, who seemed all too eager to approach. She leaned forward, whispering in his ear, a seductive smile on her face as she stepped away. The male demon took her place, gripping Maia's neck tightly.

"We might not be able to touch a hair on your head, Sammy," Regalia purred, her flighty manner returning. "But this pretty little thing was never mentioned." She grinned wickedly at him. "And I do want to give you a little show to remember me by."

The male demon suddenly seized Maia's hair, holding her still forcefully. With his other hand, he pulled out a long, gleaming knife out of his suit pocket. Slowly, he brought the edge of the knife so that it was poised just over her heart. Maia's eyes were wild with fear, and as she met Sam's eyes, he heard his promise to her echo through his mind.

 _I won't let anything happen to you._ He felt an overwhelming desire to keep his promise, but he felt so helpless. He tried to summon the defiance that he had felt a few moments ago, but the only thing he felt was terror.

Regalia was watching him with anticipation in her eyes, but when nothing happened for a few heartbeats, the light died down in her eyes, and she took on the demeanor of a child that had woken up to find no presents under the Christmas tree. "I'm tired of this," She snapped. "Finish her."

A wicked grin spread across the man's face, and he raised the knife, swinging it down toward Maia's pale, vulnerable skin. Though she was frozen, terror screamed from her eyes as loudly as if she'd been able to vocalize it.

There was a roar in Sam's ears and red crashed over his vision. Heat flooded through his body like fire coursing through his veins, and he thrust out, striking with an invisible hand. His vision cleared and he saw Maia stumbling a few steps away, appearing unharmed but shaken. The man in the cowboy hat was standing rigid, knife slightly lowered.

"My, my," Regalia said. "Kitten's letting out his claws, now, isn't he?"

"Leave," Sam grunted through the effort of keeping the demon still. He felt the demon's will battling against his own, fighting for control, but held firm. He could do this. "Now."

Regalia giggled. "Sammy, you might be able to hold one of us- an impressive feat, no doubt- But what reason have we to leave? If anything, you've just made it much more profitable to stick around."

"Then. Let me. Give you. Some. Encouragement." Sam's teeth were gritted, but his heart beat intensified along with his intentions, as if the latent power inside him excited with exercise. The other demons were watching him with interest, but no real fear. Cowboy hat stared at him in hatred, but while he felt Sam's strength, it seemed even he doubted that Sam could do anything substantial with it.

 _We'll see about that._ Sam thought, closing his eyes and mentally surging forward with his powers. He had no idea what he was doing or what effect it would have, but he knew that it would do something. And that the demons would not be fans.

There was a choking sound, some murmurs of unease, and Sam kept pushing, even as pain built in his temple, like the pain he used to experience with visions.

 _I have Azazel's blood in my veins. I'm part demon. I have power, and right now, I can put it to some good use._

He thrust out with everything he had, even as it drained him, and opened his eyes to see the demon gagging in his hold. His eyes were wide, panicked, and his jaw opened wide as a black mist bubbled at his lips. As Sam pushed, the smoke began tumbling out of his mouth, faster and faster, like a river undammed, until the last tendrils slid to the floor and sizzled into the tile, slowing sinking through the floor and fading away.

Something trickled down Sam's face, and he reached up, his fingers coming away bright red with blood. As his concentration fractured, the man collapsed to the ground, eyes rolled back in his head. The patrons screamed in helpless fear and the demons, frozen at first in shock, seemed to recover and regain some sense of self-preservation. Columns of smoke erupted in the room as they fled, smashing through windows and walls in their haste.

Through the chaos, Sam stumbled for Maia, only to see another form reach her first. Regalia grinned wickedly at Sam as she seized hold of Maia's shoulders.

"Until next time, dearie," She called gaily, her voice barely audible over the tumult of whipping wind. Maia reached desperately for him before black fog exploded under their feet, whirlpooling rapidly up under their feet until they were swallowed by it.

"NO!" Sam sprinted for them, only for the fog to dissipate as soon as his fingers reached it. He was left staring at empty air, the last traces of Regalia's poison wisping away in the breeze from the shattered windows. "No, no…"

Sam whipped around, ignoring the patrons that flinched away from his gaze, and ran for one of the open windows. He vaulted through it quickly, ignoring the glass crunching under his feet and snagging on his clothes. Sam sprinted down the street, searching the sky for traces of the smoke, but there was nothing. Nothing.

His feet slowly stopped underneath him, but his mind was still racing, grasping frantically for ways to find her. It churned but brought up nothing. What did he know about hunting demons?

 _John._ Was the only helpful thing he could think of and turned back to see that he'd come nearly five blocks in that short time. He noticed an ancient pay phone on the street corner and hurried over. Sam fished through his pockets for a few quarters and punched in John's number, gripping the receiver like a lifeline as it rang.

" _Winchester speaking._ "

Sam blew out a sigh of relief. "It's me."

" _Sam?_ " John's lowered voice was both furious and relieved. " _The hell happened to staying low? The entire hospital's in an uproar, all the patients are in lockdown, and people are shouting about demons and a murderous psychic on the loose._ "

Everything Sam had been about to say lodged in his throat. "Murderous?"

" _What happened, Sam?_ "

Quickly, Sam gave John the rundown of what happened, aware that time was ticking and he didn't have any more quarters. "It took her, Dad. I have to find her and I don't even know where to start."

" _I hate to say it, Sam, but we might have bigger problems on our hands._ "

"What do you mean?"

" _The cops are crawling all over this place. People are saying things, blaming you for it all. I haven't heard much about the guy that you exorcised, but I know he ain't in good shape. Anything wrong with him's gonna come down on you, and I've heard people saying that the DPA will be here within the hour."_

Sam suppressed the shudder that rocked down his spine. "What do I do?"

" _God, Sam, I don't…_ " The receiver was silent for a few seconds, and Sam frantically checked the dial, sure they had been disconnected. Finally, his voice came back. " _Get to camp, Sam. Castiel will give you safe haven, and I'll come by when it's safe to figure this out."_

Sam swallowed and nodded, though John couldn't see it. "Okay. I can do that."

" _Just be careful, okay? Be safe. Be smart._ " A few short beeps signaled that their time was almost up.

"Safe. Smart. I got it." Sam pushed down his panic now that he had a plan. The guilt of what he was putting his parents through crushed down on him. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I don't know how… It just… I didn't mean…"

" _I know, Sam,_ " John sounded weary. " _Just be safe. I'll find you._ "

As Sam hung up the phone, he became aware of how completely alone he was. No Dean to back him up, no John on the way. This time, he had only himself to rely on. While that thought was panic inducing, he also found himself strangely reassured by the fact. No chance of him hurting someone else that he loved.

First things first, Sam knew that he needed a ride to camp. Who knew how long it would take him to walk there, and with the DPA hunting him down, he wouldn't make it far. But he could hardly risk public transportation. Bus stations were the first places that DPA agents searched when hunting down a fugitive psychic. Which was all he was now to them. A public menace.

He headed south down the quiet main street, trying to keep a low profile. Nothing screamed _guilty_ like a ducked head and barely controlled sprint. As he walked, he imagined how Jenna was taking this whole thing. Good luck to her if she was going to try and put a positive spin on this whole nightmare.

The bus station was located near the edge of Orthe, outside a rusty diner named "Spuds". Sam couldn't tell if the name was supposed to be plural or possessive because of how nearly illegible it was from time and the elements, but one glance inside told him that it didn't matter much to anyone.

Pushing open the door, Sam cast a furtive glance around, looking for anyone that might be a DPA agent or over-inquisitive informer. The diner was sparsely occupied, with an old couple sitting in the booth nearest to the bar, a young woman and her child at a table next to the window, and a man in a rumpled business suit, necktie loose and askew. The typical mid-morning Sunday bunch.

Sam was so busy watching the little boy tracing a cartoon rabbit on his menu that he didn't notice the waitress approaching.

"Mornin', Doll," The woman greeted him. "Booth or table?"

Sam hesitated, unsure of how to respond, and the woman tutted. "If you're lookin' for a spot at the bar, I might warn you it's mighty early for all that nonsense, and Erl's still got a keen eye for them cards."

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm not- There's, um... A booth would be fine." He managed, and the woman gave him a sympathetic, if curious, look.

"Sure, thing, honey. Follow me."

She lead him to a booth a few seats away from the elderly couple, and Sam sat down gratefully. Looking around the diner, he didn't see any screens, only an old-fashioned boombox radio, quietly playing country hits among bursts of static. He let himself relax slightly, figuring he had enough time to sit for a minute. He could ask about the bus schedule, keep an eye outside, and duck out the back door if he saw anyone suspicious.

"What can I start you with, hon'?"

Sam fumbled through his pockets, patting them down with an awkwardness that seemed to scream _(deception!)_ in his mind. He looked up at the woman with a face of embarrassment. "I must have left my wallet at home. Too much of a rush, I guess." His voice rang with fabrication, tasting sour on his tongue, but the woman, Margaret by her nametag, didn't seem to notice.

Margaret chuckled. "Oh, I know the feelin'. My Larry'd lose his head if it weren't screwed right on his neck. Why, seems every day he's runnin' home after only a few hours at the office, havin' forgotten somethin' or other. And yet, that man's never forgot a date his whole life. Days are just stuck in his brain, tacked up there like white on rice." She offered a long-suffering sigh and shook her head good-naturedly. "Anyhow, I'd be happy to offer you a drink on the house. Too hot a mornin' out there not to drink somethin', and I just couldn't live with myself if I let you go out there in the blazin' sun with nothing in your belly."

Sam's head spun with how quickly she was talking. "Sure, um, I'll have a Coke, I guess."

"Would you be interested in giving our lemonade a try? Sweetest thing you'll have all day an' pink as a rosy sunrise."

"Sure," Sam agreed. "Lemonade is fine." _Crushed ice, slice of lemon._ His throat tightened, and he turned his gaze out the window so she wouldn't see his expression.

"Alrighty, hon', comin' right up."

A small paper with bus route information caught his eye as Margaret walked away. A one-way ticket to Lawrence would cost him fifteen dollars (not including tax), and Sam doubted that the bus driver would buy his whole "whoops, left my wallet at home" routine. Maybe he could hitch a ride…? Glancing around, Sam didn't think that anyone looked particularly threatening, but the problem was, there was no way to know who was safe for a psychic to approach. If the wrong people got wind that he, a psychic, was on the run, he'd be turned in for sure. Or worse.

The cheerful music cut out with a burst of static, and Sam looked over to see the short-order cook fiddling with the dial. He settled on a different channel and disappeared again behind the counter as a new, tinny voice buzzed through the silent diner.

" _...attack on St. George's earlier this morning by a rogue psychic who is now on the run. Authorities on the scene can confirm two deaths and at least three others who were seriously injured in this incident. At this point, it's unclear if this was the act of a single person or a coordinated attack. The suspect in question is an adolescent male, 5'11'', with brown hair. Last seen wearing jeans and a gray hoodie. Police are asking anyone with information regarding the attack or any suspicious persons in the area to come forward. In other news, the Dodgers…"_ The news broadcast moved on to something else, but Sam felt frozen, waiting for someone to notice him, put two and two together. Or maybe they already had, were calling right now, telling the DPA exactly where he was so they could come pick him up-

Sam couldn't stand it and quickly cast a glance around the room. The elderly couple was still quietly talking, the old woman kindly patting her husband's hand. The mother seemed to have heard the news, but had a frown of sympathy on her face. No phone, no fear in her eyes.

"Damn shame what things've come to, eh?" The man at the counter offered in a ragged voice to Margaret, who was bringing him a refill of coffee in one hand, Sam's drink in the other. "Huntin' 'em down like rats. Damn shame."

Margaret tutted. "Well, yes, frankly, it's quite-"

"Shoulda all been exterminated from the beginning," The man interrupted her, knocking back the last of the dregs before putting his mug down for more. "Only good haffer's a dead haffer, am I right?"

Margaret pursed her lips, keeping silent as she poured. When the man waved her off and resumed drinking, she smiled tightly at him and put the coffee away. She offered a bright smile to Sam as she brought him his drink, and Sam searched her expression for any sign of wariness or guilt, anything to indicate she'd called him in, but she didn't seem to have recognized him.

"Here you are, sugar," Margaret said. "Now, you just flag me down if there's anything else that you need, you hear?"

Sam nodded and went back to looking out the window as she circled around to check on the elderly couple in front of him. Outside, a few people were gathered by the bus stop, fanning themselves in the rising heat. Sam glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, realizing that the bus would probably be arriving soon and he still had no idea how he was going to get on it. Could he ask one of the people out there to give him a twenty, maybe spin the lie again for them? There was no telling how many of them had heard the news, but he almost had no other options. Staying in Orthe certainly wasn't one.

As Sam was deliberating, two SUV's, sunlight glinting off their charcoal shells, pulled up to the curb next to the diner, and Sam felt his stomach drop into his feet. Two people stepped out from each, two men and two women. They strode toward the diner with purpose, like dogs on the scent.

Sam stood up from his seat and made for the bathroom, trying his hardest _not_ to look like a frantic psychic playing hide-and-seek with the DPA. He made through the push door and closed the door just as he heard the bell ring from the front entrance. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but knew that he was hardly home free. Anyone could have seen him come in here. Hell, maybe the DPA agents had themselves.

He heard the murmur of voices outside the door and pressed his ear against the crack. He couldn't make out any words, just the low tones of a man and Margaret's voice ringing back

 _Hell. Margaret._ Sam realized with a jolt. There was no way she wouldn't match him with the agents' descriptions. She would put two and two together, figure out where he must've hidden, and then…

Sam instantly started looking for an escape route. A vent, a window, even a weapon. If he had to fight his way out, he would. Being caught meant going back to the lab, going back under scrutiny, probably never seeing Mary, John, or Dean again. It meant he would probably never find out if Dean would get better.

As he searched fruitlessly, the murmurs moved away. He heard the faint bell and then silence. He listened closely. As he was leaning toward the door, it jerked open, nearly catching him in the nose. Sam snapped back, swallowing the yelp that threatened to escape.

Margaret stared at him through the three-inch crack in the door. Her sugary smile was gone and her eyes blazed with intensity. Sam felt a sudden thrill of fear race up his spine. What if she wasn't content to simply call the authorities?

Just as he was considering shouting for help, weighing the benefits of being caught over dead, Margaret placed a finger against her lips. She glanced to either side and then opened the door slightly, waving him out.

"Those agents are gone for now," She whispered to him. "But they'll be back within a quarter hour, I'm sure. You need to be long gone by then."

She opened the door after another quick look around and ushered him through the hall and to the back exit. Sam stepped through the door, opening his mouth to thank her when she pushed something roughly into his arms. It was a large purple sweatshirt, the logo for some local college fading on the front.

"Just take it," Margaret ordered when he hesitated. "And give me that one you're wearing."

Sam complied and Margaret handed him one more thing before he could protest. He stared down at the fifty dollar bill in his palm, too stunned to say anything. Margaret reached over and curled his fingers over the money, offering him a kind smile.

"Now you git goin', you hear?" She said in a firm voice, warmer than before. "That bus'll be here any minute, and I'm guessing you're aimin' to be on it."

Sam nodded. Margaret returned the gesture, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck, honey, and remember… Not all of us are like the loud ones, okay? You got friends all over if you just know how to spot 'em."

Sam made his way to the bus stop with his head ducked low. He joined the crowd and entered the bus with ease, not having any problems purchasing a last-minute bus ticket from the driver. Sam chose a seat near the back, close to the bathroom (possible last-minute hiding spot) and right next to an emergency exit window. He had no idea if it would be even possible to escape out of it if the bus were pulled over and searched, or any idea of how he would go about that. Still, he had to keep all his options open. Couldn't let his guard down, for even a moment.

That's what it meant to be on the run.

It was a three-hour ride to the next town, and from there, Sam would have to take two more transits just to make it back to Lawrence. And it wasn't like he could just go up to the ticket booth and request a ride to the local psychic safe haven once he got there. He'd have to walk or hitchhike, and there was absolutely zero chance of him asking a stranger for a ride.

Margaret's words rang in his ears. _Friends all over…_ It certainly didn't feel that way most days. Most days, he felt lucky if he ran into people that didn't seem to view him as the outright enemy. And yet, he wondered how many people were like Margaret. Sympathetic and kind, but too fearful to voice their opinion around those that were louder and more aggressive.

Nonetheless, he couldn't risk running into a kind person. He had to figure out a way to track Regalia and rescue Maia before anything bad happened to her. All while avoiding the DPA and any other haffer-haters he happened upon along the way. And, not to mention, battling out of control powers and another entity fighting for control in his head.

Piece of cake, really.

* * *

 **There we go; finally, something happens! Hope you enjoyed! If you did, leave a review and let me know what you thought.**

 **Cheers!**


End file.
